


You're Not Alone Tonight

by thelilnan



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divorce, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Happy Ending, Living Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Separation Anxiety, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam and Lawrence survive Jigsaw's game and have to put their lives back together again. Thankfully they have each other.</p>
<p>——</p>
<p>I fixed the ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Light. Sound. The sharp smell of disinfectant and clean floors. Hands, bodies, voices, cloth. Beeping. The plastic smell of a respirator.

Darkness.

-

_ Help!! Please, help me! _

_ What happened?? _

_ You have to help me! My name is Lawrence Gordon, I just escaped a serial killer and my friend is still there! He’s dying, you have to get him!! _

_ I’ll call 911! Please stay calm! _

_ You have to cauterize my leg! I’m dying, please— _

_ It’s okay, Dr. Gordon! It’s going to be okay, I’m a nurse. _

_ Please, you have to get Adam!! _

_ It’s going to be okay— _

-

Lawrence came back to consciousness in a hospital bed, around 5pm on the second day of his short lived coma. Immediately, he recognized the room; he was at his own hospital, in a private room on the third floor. Panicked, he briefly took stock of the room; a respirator, a heart monitor, a morphine drip for the pain, cards on the side table and a box of candy. The sun was streaming in golden and soft through the loosely drawn shades, his room half lit out of respect for his previous unconscious state. His door was open to the main corridor, where nurses, doctors, and orderlies bustled about in the late evening rush. Patients would be needing their dinners and evening medications soon. The familiarity comforted him somewhat. Then reality came screaming back in a familiar voice.

_ DON’T LEAVE ME! _

Lawrence began to shake uncontrollably, his breath becoming constricted and his chest growing tight. The rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor picked up its pace, mocking him. His hands frantically shuffled to find the call button in his bed. Once found, Lawrence mashed the device as hard as possible and in rapid succession, though he knew it didn’t matter. His cries for help wouldn’t go ignored; not here.

True to expectation, a nurse ran in. Lawrence immediately recognized her not only as the woman who’d discovered him struggling for life in the middle of the street, but as one of his hospital’s newest employees. Jane. She’d just started a month ago, working mostly night shifts and early mornings. Lawrence had run into her on her first day, nearly spilling coffee on her. She’d laughed, blushing. Lawrence had smiled.

“Where—” he breathed before tearing his oxygen mask off. The air felt thin. He must have an infection, “Where’s Adam??”

“Dr. Gordon, please calm down,” she wasn’t smiling. Lawrence felt the blood drain from his face.

“Please,” he sputtered, struggling to sit up, “My friend, Adam—”

-

_ His name is Adam! _

Police and EMTs had him surrounded. He was being carried away.

_ Sir, please— _

_ He’s chained to a pipe. He’s bleeding to death! He… I shot him. I had to shoot him to save my family. Please, he’s dying! _

_ Sir, can you tell us where he is? _

_ The warehouse on King’s! It’s got broken windows and the door around back is open. The basement floor. He’s in the bathroom in the basement, he’s chained to a pipe. Please, he’s going to die! _

_ We’ll get him. _

_ Please… _

-

“Your friend’s in surgery.”

Lawrence’s head felt like it was full of fog.  _ Surgery? Why? _

“He needed a transfusion… among other things. I don’t know the whole story. He’s been in and out for the past few days.”

“Is he unconscious?” Stupid question. Adam probably bled himself into a coma. Regret filled his stomach with nausea.  _ I didn’t have to shoot him _ .

“He’s been in a coma since they brought him in.”

Lawrence began to cry. Hands shaking, he pulled at his matted blond hair and sobbed. Jane stood by his side, hand reaching out before settling on the safety bar alongside his bed. Lawrence hiccuped, clawing at his face, though he flinched when he touched the gauze adorning his cheek. He shook, helpless, for long minutes. Jane stayed by his side.

“Dr. Gordon…”

He looked up. Jane regarded him with more love and understanding than he’d seen in a long time; not since when he was a child and came running to his mother when he was hurt. He stopped bawling for a moment, but trembled nonetheless.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“... Thank you,” Lawrence hiccuped again, throat feeling dry.

She got him to eat something to calm him down—crackers from the bedside table—and told him about the long surgery he’d undergone to save what remained of his leg; not all of it, of course. Lawrence’s foot had been long forgotten in that decrepit bathroom, tabled in favor of retrieving Adam’s unconscious body. Lawrence barely reacted to the news. He’d long ago accepted the loss of his foot, even now with one hand skimming over the bandaging at the end of his shin.

It all seemed so far away.

Then Jane gave him her cellphone so he could call his family, which she assured him was safe. They’d visited a few hours ago, while Lawrence had been unconscious, and were responsible for one of the cards and a box of Lawrence’s favorite candy—Raisinets. It made him feel a little better, but mostly ridiculous, as if they weren’t really in danger at all. But he’d heard her over that shitty little Nokia. He’d heard her cry and wail for him to save them. It had to have been real.

It had to have meant something.

“Alison,” his voice was rough from crying. He wiped clumsily at his face while Jane stood just outside his door, giving him some privacy.

“Larry?? Oh thank God.”

He winced, but continued, “Are you two alright?”

“Y-yes, of course we are. Are you?”

Lawrence shrugged before verbally answering, “I’m okay. My head hurts. And my leg.”

“Yeah,” she paused and he knew she was fiddling with her hair; she did that when she was nervous, “They said…”

“I cut it off,” he sighed, “Stupid.”

“Larry, don’t do that…”

He grunted.

“I think we can still make it for visiting hours if you feel up to it. Diana’s been really worried.”

The corner of his mouth pulled, attempting a smile, “I’d love that.”

“We’ll bring by some dinner. You want anything?”

He didn’t, “Tuna club from the deli would be great.”

Alison chuckled. Lawrence felt a little better.

“We’ll be there soon,” she paused, “... I love you.”

He paused. Too long.

“I love you too.”

_ Click _ .

Lawrence held the unfamiliar phone for a moment more, staring down at it and trying to think of anything but the current shit show that was his life. He’d never been great at processing tragedies; his parents’ deaths had left him numb for almost a year. Getting behind the wheel was still daunting, but doable; it wasn’t as if people were exactly gracious when you tried explaining your phobias. What would be the new one? Saws? Blue button down shirts? Bathrooms?

Leaning back against the plush pillow, Lawrence called Jane back in. He felt significantly calmer; or less panicked, at any rate. Jane told him whatever he was going through, the hospital had a therapist on retainer. Dr. Feldman. Lawrence knew him.

“Thank you, Jane.”

“Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. But Alison and Diana would be here soon. He asked to have the television turned on.

Jane left and Lawrence drew his arms up over his chest, trying to focus on the television. The news was on, but thankfully no word of his or Adam’s situation. Not yet anyway. Two survivors from one of Jigsaw’s games? That’ll be national, real quick. The thought exhausted him further.

Time must’ve gotten away from him because before he knew it, Diana was there, leaping onto his bed, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” and bringing him into a choke-hold hug. Lawrence was startled but quick to recover, holding onto his daughter tight and pressing his cheek to hers.

“I’m here, honey, everything’s okay.”

“I was scared, daddy…”

He hugged her tighter, hiding his face in her tiny shoulder. His felt like his chest could cave in at any moment, like the sudden heat rising from his gut to his heart would melt him from the inside out and leave nothing but withered bone. He felt guilty.

“It’s okay now, honey. Everything’s okay. You did so good.”

Alison stood by, just as Jane had done less than an hour ago. And just like Jane, her hand hesitated before resting just next to Lawrence.

Some things can’t be saved.

But they could pretend, for a while. They could hold themselves to a higher standard, for Diana’s sake, until the dust settled. They could be fucking civil for once. Lawrence looked up at Alison, silently signing this agreement. They could get through this.

But.

It was fucked up. Lawrence wasn’t going to deny what he’d done for their safety but he also wouldn’t say it was out of love. Not for Alison, anyway. He liked her. He was content with her company, like a good friend, and he wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t spare the life of a man he’d met a few hours prior because he wasn’t in love with his wife. But remembering that he had “attempted” to kill Adam made him sick, so he stowed the thought for now and focused on the smile on his daughter’s face and the comfortable familiarity of Alison by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

Day four of his hospitalization. Lawrence was getting anxious to leave, though he knew he was far from ready. His doctors had briefed him on his surgeries; the cutting, cleaning, and closure of his leg. He was also on a strict course of antibiotics and painkillers to help with the healing process, both of which took a serious physical toll on him. Sitting up by himself was a chore but this didn’t stop him from asking every afforded second if he could go see Adam. The nurses had begun hurrying out of his room after medications and meal drops so they could avoid the disappointing conversation. Jane was unlucky enough to be caught just after dinner.

“Jane—”

She stopped, taking a moment’s preparation before turning on her heel, “ _ Yes _ , Dr. Gordon?”

Lawrence flashed a smile, “I’m going to have to ask again; can I go see Adam?”

The younger woman pouted, mouth a tight line. Lawrence had come to learn this as her thinking face. It was about the cutest thing he’d ever seen, if he was going to be patronizing about it. He knew he was wearing her down now. In a last ditch effort, he ratcheted his smile up from Handsome to Disney Prince (or that’s what Alison used to call it, anyway).

It seemed to have worked. Jane relented with a long suffering sigh and grabbed the wheelchair from his place, folded up behind the door. Lawrence grinned, one hand clenched victoriously. It was the most relief he’d felt since seeing Diana alive and well; now he’d see Adam and try to forgive himself for his sins.

Try, anyway.

Jane wheeled him down a couple doors to Adam’s room; another private room, Lawrence noted. While he was relieved that Adam was shown the same courtesy as himself and given space to recover in his own time, he knew the journalist would have a heart attack when the bill came. Maybe he could intercept it; claim Adam as a dependent or set up a monthly deposit to his account. Something. He’d figure out specifics later.

His chair arrived to Adam’s left, away from the gauze and brace adorning his right. Lawrence was thankful for this, wanting some distance from his handiwork so he could mentally prepare himself for the next wave of guilt and remorse. For now, he just wanted to focus on Adam’s face, peacefully unconscious.

He didn’t look good.

How could anyone look good after everything he’d been put through? Again, he reminded himself that it was a miracle Adam was alive, but he didn’t have to be here, laid up like this. Lawrence didn’t  _ have _ to shoot him. There had to have been a way out.

_ Every possible angle has been pre-thought out _ .

He was pale. Not as pale as Lawrence had been when he arrived at the hospital, but not healthy. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was greasy and matted, his chin stubbled with a few days’ growth. He still had blood and dirt and grout caked onto his arms, cheek, and hands. But he was alive. He was alive and breathing in a slow, even rhythm, and focusing on that helped Lawrence stave off remorseful tears. Instead, he barely felt the sting of them welling to the surface as he reached out and took Adam’s limp, but alive, hand. He squeezed it, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

“I’m sorry,” he managed after a few minutes. His thumb rubbed along Adam’s knuckles, feeling the gentle warmth of his skin. There was still blood caked under his nails; his blood? Zep’s? Lawrence’s jaw clenched and looked back to Adam’s sleeping face.

God, he was just a kid. Lawrence felt ancient comparatively, felt that much more guilty over the whole ordeal. Adam had his whole life ahead of him and it was nearly stolen away by that maniac and Lawrence. It bothered him still how Zep had even decided Adam was to be Lawrence victim; his test. A pawn in a horrible game. He was practically inconsequential. It could’ve been literally anyone but it was Adam, who’d taken money to stalk Lawrence for a weekend, just because the kid was broke and had nothing else going on. Lawrence didn’t realize it at first, but his hand had been clenching tighter around Adam’s, likely in order not to have another anxiety attack. It was all too much.

Just then, as Lawrence was about to retreat to his own room for the night, just as he was about to relinquish the vice-like hold, the younger man stirred. It was a soft noise that reminded Lawrence of Diana’s infant cries when she was less than a year old. It was weak, broken, and just this side of uncomfortable. Lawrence held onto it dearly, watching Adam open his eyes. Groggy, glassy, confused. Adam made the sound again.

“Hey…” Lawrence rasped. His throat felt tight, “You’re okay…”

Adam grunted in response, blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim evening light of his room. Eventually, he realized who was holding his hand, and he tightened his grip. Lawrence could’ve cried. Instead, he waited to hear what, if anything, Adam would say. It was tiny, thin, and almost too quiet to hear, but Lawrence would never forget it.

“You came back for me.”

Lawrence grinned, both hands over Adam’s now, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Adam smiled faintly, eyes half-closed—he was clearly still exhausted—but it was a smile nonetheless.

“My hero,” he sighed dreamily. Lawrence chalked that up to the morphine drip, but he’d smuggle that moment away, keep it for when he needed it.

-

He felt so greedy when he was with Adam. Lawrence spent almost all of his waking hours with him, gently escorting him back into the waking world, drinking in every single moment they spent together. They’d talk a little here and there, carefully avoiding any real mention of the bathroom; they weren’t ready just yet. Adam especially. The medications staving off infection and relieving the immense pain from his shoulder took too much out of him for any conversation more serious than the weather or what they were serving for dinner. But by the second full day of his consciousness, he was getting back to his old self. He’d quip with the nurses, even flirt a little, and it only got worse as he came back to himself. More than once, Jane or one of her coworkers would leave the room giggling, and Lawrence had to wonder why Adam had complained of such crippling loneliness. He practically had these girls eating out of his hands.

The thought made his stomach flip.

But it was Adam so Lawrence took everything he could. He hoped Adam didn’t mind; he was always so tired from his pain medication. Lawrence hated to burden him with his presence, but after having to leave him behind in the bathroom, praying he’d survive long enough for someone to know Adam was there, he couldn’t bear to leave him again.

Alison was good about visiting with Diana, though she clearly didn’t approve of the three of them spending so much time in Adam’s room. She claimed it was because she wanted to spend time with her family, not this stranger, but Lawrence firmly refused.

“Try to understand,” he implored while the two of them stayed in the hallway just outside Adam’s door, “We went through a lot—”

“And Diana and I  _ didn’t _ ?”

“I’m not saying that!” Lawrence clenched his fist, looking to Adam’s room. He could see the younger man talking to his daughter, making a silly, exaggerated face and waving his good arm animatedly. Diana was captivated, perched on the edge of her seat, “... It’s almost been a week and no one’s visited him.”

Alison stopped and looked to the room, same as her husband.

“So… forgive me if I want to stay by his side,” Lawrence rubbed his forehead, messing his tangled bangs. He didn’t remember the last time he properly washed his hair, “Someone has to.”

“... Fine,” Alison relented in a small, quiet voice.

“Thank you.”

They reentered the room, apparently at the end of whatever bizarre tale Adam was telling Diana, because he ended with a grandiose, “The  _ end _ .” Diana clapped, giggling, and Adam bowed somewhat awkwardly, largely due to the restrictions of his shoulder brace.

“We have to get going, Lawrence,” Alison announced, waving for her daughter to join her at the door, “She has school in the morning.”

“Right,” Lawrence had to maneuver his wheelchair into the space between the wall and Adam’s bed so Diana could escape, though not before hugging her father good bye. He kissed her cheek, hugging tight, “We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“When are you getting released?” Lawrence raised his eyebrows at the sharp reply but said nothing. As for the answer, he told her it wasn’t clear. Both men were recovering, slow and steady, but still had basic physical therapy to begin and a course of antibiotics to finish (the latter to stave off the recently diagnosed fungal infection in their lungs). Alison accepted this, gave him a quick kiss, and they were gone. It was about dinner time anyway. Lawrence almost excused himself before Adam suddenly spoke up.

“You want to stay for dinner?” he wasn’t looking at the older man; instead, a spot toward the end of his bed seemed to capture his attention, “The nurse says it’s meatloaf tonight. I need someone to pawn my broccoli off to.”

“You don’t eat broccoli,” Lawrence deadpanned. Adam shook his head, disgusted, “Are you 12?”

“Sorry I don’t like soggy weeds. Like your palette’s so refined.”

“Some of us stopped eating out of the microwave when we turned 20.”

Adam muttered something hateful under his breath—Lawrence swore it sounded like  _ rich bitch _ —before reaffirming his offer, “Do you want to stay or not?”

Lawrence smiled.

Of course he did.


	3. Chapter 3

The police came on day seven.

They announced their arrival with a few curt knocks on the open door of Adam’s room, where both he and Lawrence were watching tv. Lawrence sat up a bit straighter in his wheelchair while Adam shrunk back into the plush pillows of his bed, looking sheepish. The officers excused themselves for the intrusion, introducing themselves as Detectives Jefferson and Calderone. Jefferson was a man about Adam’s age with thick eyebrows and stubble threatening to match. Calderone was a woman about 10 years his senior, her short, curly hair tied back into a professional-looking queue. They stayed at the doorway of Adam’s room, awaiting invitation to conduct their interview en suite or in the conference room down the hall. A quick look exchanged between Adam and Lawrence confirmed the desire to stay put.

“We’re fine here,” Lawrence replied, maneuvering his chair out of the way so the two could decide who got the only chair and who would stand. Lawrence wheeled himself back in a practiced move to stay by Adam’s bed. Adam remained silent, watching the detectives intently. As Jefferson closed the door behind his partner, Calderone took the seat, producing a tape recorder in the same motion. Adam flinched despite himself.

“Just to record the interview,” she assured him, seeing his unease, “I know you may be sick of these by now.”

“Something like that,” Lawrence surprised himself with his reply. When did he start speaking for Adam? He tightened his jaw, stowing the thought for now.

The questions were fairly predictable. Lawrence gave his account first, starting with his kidnapping in the garage and ending with Jane finding him in the street. Even while keeping to the barest details of the night, the horrible memories threatened to overtake him; to make him relive those long, painful hours detail by agonizing detail. He made it through, clearing his throat to keep himself in check, and spared a glance to Adam at his left. The younger man remained silent and stoic, watching the detectives. Bizarrely, Lawrence felt a surge of pride for Adam’s cool demeanor. Maybe they were getting better.

“So you admit to shooting Mr. Faulkner?” Jefferson said after a moment’s pause. Lawrence’s attention snapped back to the detectives, his stomach flooding with anxiety and nausea. He wanted to vomit. He nodded instead.

“I did. Yes.”

“It’s fine,” Adam finally spoke up, eyes now fixed on the foot of his bed, “Just… for the record.”

It most certainly was not fine. Adam’s mobility and sensation were enormously compromised from the injury and subsequent surgeries. He’d have to spend the next few months learning to write his own name while Lawrence learned to walk with his prosthetic; they were fucking toddlers again, all because of him. The doctor frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“And your injury is also your own doing?”

“I cut off my foot,” Lawrence responded tersely, “I played Jigsaw’s game. Or should I say, Zep’s.”

The officers looked up then.

“I’m sorry?” Calderone inquired, “Who is Zep?”

“Zep _Hindle_ , an orderly here. He’s Jigsaw! Or, was. He was about to shoot me for failing the game and Adam hit him with a toilet tank lid.”

Jefferson’s eyes lit up, “The corpse in the bathroom.”

“One of them,” Lawrence confirmed.

“No,” Adam suddenly interjected, as if it all had come screaming back, “No, no, Zep’s not Jigsaw! He was playing a game too! I-I found his tape; the one Jigsaw made for him! He had to shoot you if you lost! Jigsaw was that dead guy with us! The one that blew his brains out! It was a fucking latex mask, Lawrence!”

“What??” All three gaped simultaneously. Adam babbled, describing what he could of the man; a half-bloodied monster of a man, who had sealed him away in what he thought would be his tomb. Lawrence listened, suddenly jolting as if struck with electricity when he realized who it could be.

“I know him!”

 _Fuck_ , wasn’t this perfect.

-

They lost three officers and had two more hospitalized while apprehending Jigsaw, a.k.a. John Kramer. 62. Cancer patient. Terminal. Of course, Lawrence already knew this, having been the one to diagnose him. He remembered that day with such clarity, having to deliver the news on a rainy afternoon to an exhausted looking man. _62._ Not exactly a spring chicken but too young to accept death just yet. Or at least, that was what Lawrence had been accustomed to; what he’d expected. Kramer had accepted the news with surprising grace, barely raising his eyebrows, even as he stared at the wall behind his doctor. Lawrence had offered his sympathies, suggested treatment options and a hospital-appointed therapist, but Kramer said very little. Eventually Lawrence gave up, scheduling a follow up in a few months. Kramer left and Lawrence figured that was it. _If only_.

It was bizarre seeing the same man on the news after the fact. His mugshot didn’t differ too much from the person Lawrence had met with nearly a year ago, though something was off. Something in his eyes, so tired and sad, but with this… malice. Lawrence felt pinned by the gaze, even for the brief moment it was shown on the tv. Adam looked away almost immediately, too familiar with the monster of a man broadcast over every news outlet. _62._ It was hard imagining that this sad, dying man, even with those angry eyes, could possibly be the same monster who’d made so many people suffer so much, who’d let them die alone, afraid, and screaming. Lawrence felt sick; sicker still when he saw how pale Adam was, knowing he was reliving those dark hours in the bathroom, thinking they’d be his last.

Kramer, upon incarceration, gave almost no statement to the hoards of reporters that followed him into the jail; only a single line Lawrence had heard once before.

“People are so ungrateful to be alive.”

The press ate it up. The story took over every station, every paper, and every news site on the web, until Adam was forced to keep a children’s channel on in his room so he wouldn’t cry himself to sleep yet again. Lawrence was sickened but silent, knowing the worst was yet to come. With their medical release would come reporters. _Two survivors!_ He gripped Adam’s hand tight before he knew what he was doing. Adam said nothing, just laced his fingers with Lawrence, and kept watching Dora explore.

“Anyone call for you?” Lawrence asked quietly that night. Adam snorted, head down.

“That’s funny. Actually, yeah, my dad. Just wanted to see if I was dead or not. The story on us isn’t confirmed anywhere yet.”

_Yet._

“Is he going to visit?”

“Probably not. He lives out on Long Island. My brother’s in Queens but we don’t talk.”

“You should—”

“I mean we fucking hate each other,” Adam glanced over to him, “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

“You know you’re welcome at my place any time, day or night,” Lawrence said suddenly, as if it were their good byes. It might as well have been, since they were being discharged in the morning. Adam smiled down at his covers again, good hand pulling at the woven hospital blanket. Lawrence grabbed a pen that had been left by a nurse on Adam’s bedside table, “Here, I’ll write my number down.”

Lacking paper, Lawrence scrawled—in typical doctor’s handwriting—his number on the back of Adam’s hand. Adam squinted, feigning difficulty reading the nearly indecipherable markings, for which Lawrence immediately stammered an apology.

“It’s cool, my dad’s a doctor,” he grinned when he’d guilted Lawrence enough, “This is better than most of his notes he’d send to school with me.”

A pause.

“I wasn’t a great student.”

“I’m piecing that together.”

Before Lawrence realized it, their hands found their way back to each other, holding tight, careful not to smudge the ink.

-

The two victims— _survivors_ , Dr. Feldman had reminded them time and again—were released from the hospital the next morning and they had little idea what to do with themselves. The trial was in a couple weeks. Lawrence’s lawyer and long time friend Matthew Maddox would be handling their case. Adam would keep in contact after discharge and… that was it. Lawrence was expected to return home to his wife and daughter, rehabilitate, rebound, return to work. Adam thought about his empty darkroom; between Jigsaw and the police, there was probably nothing left.

But there they stood, at the curb of the hospital while waiting on a taxi or Lawrence’s wife, trying to figure things out. The cold rain of late October sent shivers through the two of them, pulling them closer together. It bothered Adam a little; how much he needed to have Lawrence as close as possible at all times. Dr. Feldman told them this was to be expected; coping mechanisms like constant physical touch as a means of grounding oneself were completely normal. He also told them it would be fairly difficult to separate themselves for long periods of time, but to be sure not to grow co-dependent. Adam had scoffed at first, thinking Feldman’s “psycho mumbo jumbo” was a lot of hot air. He didn’t have much to say now, almost sharing Lawrence’s jacket with his head against his chest. He could hear the pounding of Lawrence’s heart beneath the warm layers; a reminder. He was alive. _They_ were alive.

He didn’t want him to go.

“Call me,” Lawrence insisted as Alison’s car pulled up, “Or text. Anything.”

Adam agreed, finally shifting away from the older man. The loss of physical comfort made his chest grow tight; even tighter still when Alison helped her husband into the passenger’s side of the car, barely sparing a glance at Adam before climbing into her own seat. Lawrence gave a sad but reassuring wave as the car rolled away, leaving Adam alone by the curb.

He hailed a taxi and went home.


	4. Chapter 4

That night was rough. First things first, Adam made sure to call a couple close friends as soon as he walked in the door (and bolted and chained it shut). Something about the relief in their voices when they answered—the fact they were _glad_ he was okay—made Adam’s throat go tight again and again. Relief then gave way to exasperation and confusion, but it never lasted. Questions about how he survived, what he went through and saw, took over and Adam’s relief waned. Time and again, he was told about how his name had been circulating here and there for brief moments; just another victim, no mention of survival. Many of them said they assumed the worst. Adam didn’t blame them.

 _I shouldn’t be alive_.

But as it goes, everyone wanted his firsthand account. Even with the paltry number of people he actually called his friends, Adam soon got exhausted by reliving the night. He kept his story simple, hitting the major details quickly and without too much thought; bathroom, chain, ultimatum, shot, rescue. Even as watered down as it was, his friends all agreed it was a pretty fascinating story. Adam grunted in confirmation, staring at the door from his living room. The arm braced against his chest itched to hold Lawrence’s hand.

By the end of his phone call marathon, he’d propositioned everyone for a night in with him; to celebrate his survival (not to mention keep him company so he didn’t succumb to yet another panic attack). Only Dan, one of his older friends, agreed. Everyone else had plans—so they said. But Adam would take whatever he could get.

Dan brought with him a bounty of pizza and beer, though the case meant for Adam was pointedly non-alcoholic. Upon discharge, his doctor had explained the combination of alcohol and the pain medication for Adam’s arm would be a one-way ticket to the hospital, potentially the morgue, and Adam had no desire to quickly return to either. So, he followed the rules and sipped on his watery substitute for inebriation, painkillers aside. It didn’t matter, honestly. The most important thing was having Dan over; anyone to keep the memories at bay for his first night home. He swore he could still hear that puppet’s demented laughter in the spaces between his and Dan’s voices, though he knew nothing was there.

Literally, nothing.

The police, as expected, had confiscated a lot of his stuff in their investigative sweep of the apartment. His darkroom was cleaned out, as was a lot of other personal items; anything that might’ve been touched or used in some way that night. Gone. For now, they said, until they had forensic evidence to convict Kramer. Adam didn’t argue. He didn’t care. He didn’t even want to be in this shithole, much less fight for the shitty stuff he called his. He just wanted to forget, start over, clean slate.

Well, thank God for evictions.

The red letter sat on his kitchen table. It was one of the few things the police didn’t take. A reminder of how fucked Adam was by normal standards, ignoring the freakish situation of being kidnapped by a serial killer. He’d tried talking to his landlord, who was gracious enough not to throw the remainder of his belongings into the street until that case was settled, circumstances being what they were. But he’d avoided paying rent long before Jigsaw ever came into his life, so the matter was non-negotiable. He had 30 days.

But for now, Dan was there. He could think about something else. Of course, that something else was the bathroom situation, because that’s all anyone wanted to hear about, so his relief was short-lived. All the same, it was nice to have someone around so Adam could stop flinching at every creak and groan his decrypted little apartment uttered.

“I’m sorry about this,” he sighed, toying with his non-alcoholic beer. Dan was sipping at his own drink, one eye on Adam’s tiny tv.

“Are you kidding? I’m just glad you’re alive. Your name was on the fucking _news_ ; one of Jigsaw’s latest victims, in and out of surgeries for days. Like...” he shook his head, never one for being articulate, “We were all worried.”

Adam half smiled, sipping the empty-tasting beverage, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell Josh I said this but he definitely cried. We were freaked. So, yeah, you can call on us to hang out.”

Adam set his drink down again and adjusted his sling. The brace was starting to itch.

“So… What happened?” It wasn’t an easy question to ask, nor answer, but Adam knew it’d come up. Time and time again.

“It was fucked,” Adam stated bluntly, looking at the ceiling, “I woke up underwater in a rusty fucking tub and it went downhill from there.”

Dan sputtered a coughing laugh, completely taken aback. Adam smirked, chuckling slightly. Feldman’s voice rang in his head, _telling the story will help you accept it. Find a way to own your experience._

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Swear to God. Jigsaw wanted the other guy, Lawrence, to shoot me. We were in there for six hours, trying to find a way out, but we were shackled to either end of the bathroom, a fucking corpse between us.”

Dan kept drinking but his eyes never left Adam.

“So, we found keys and clues and saws; different pieces of the puzzle. I didn’t think it’d get to him pointing a gun at me. I thought we’d escape or Ashton Kutcher would suddenly show up and tell us we were being Punk’d, but it got down to it and…” Adam sighed, gesturing to his shoulder, “He shot me. After cutting his own fucking foot off.”

“What??”

“He panicked.”

They laughed, and Adam felt lighter.

“Wait, so how did you get out?”

Adam’s face fell. A sigh.

“Lawrence was able to get the police, somehow. I mean, he said he crawled out of that basement, up a Goddamn ladder, but he was fucking bleeding to death so I really don’t know how. But, I mean, he did. He told them where I was and they sent a SWAT team, just in case Jigsaw was still there,” Adam paused, thumbing the cool glass in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter, more distant, “They said I was there about three hours. That I was was unresponsive when they got to me, but I swear I remember everything. _Everything_. Especially when they got the door open,” Adam’s mouth twitched. His eyes were burning, “I thought it was Jigsaw again, coming back to finish me off.”

He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand, taking a long breath in. Dan shifted, his knee knocking Adam’s gently.

“I woke up four days later. Lawrence was there,” a shrug. Dan finished his beer, “So. We’re okay. And they caught him.”

“And… what? He’s getting the electric chair?”

“I dunno. Lawrence says we’ll have to testify at the trial. It’s kind of a formality at this point. I was able to I.D. him since I saw him.”

“What? When?”

Adam snorted despite himself. How could he forget the worst part of the story? That the _corpse_ was Jigsaw. Kramer. Whoever. Seeing him rise from the pool of blood and stagger away, like a fucking zombie but so much worse because he knew. He _knew_. He closed that door like God exiling humanity from paradise, condemning him to die in this putrid, decrypted tomb.

He’d screamed.

He remembered it all so fucking clear, the primal fear and despair, screaming himself hoarse because what the fuck else could he _do_. He’d screamed for an hour until his throat was raw, until his voice came out a pathetic whimper. He’d cried for hours afterward, hugging himself and babbling incoherently; pleas to God, to Jigsaw, to Lawrence, to come save him. Presently, Adam began to shake, though he didn’t know if it was anger or trauma that made him tremble.

Dan took this in, sitting back. It was a long moment before he spoke.

“What the fuck.”

Adam laughed.

“But, hey,” Dan raised the now-empty beer, “You survived.”

Adam raised his own, half-full bottle, “You fucking know it.”

_Clink._

“You’re gonna be famous, you know.”

Adam snorted, eyes down, “Yeah.”

“Seriously. That girl that survived was all over the news for a month. You guys both escaped _and_ put him away. Like… shit, dude. Don’t forget me when you’re doing morning shows in L.A.”

Adam laughed again. _Yeah right._ But he had a point. Jigsaw had apparently been terrorizing New York for about a year, if his internet research was any indication. The killer himself was national news, so why should his survivors be any different? He played with the idea of doing talk shows and news spots and felt sick with dread. But then he remembered Lawrence would be with him the whole time, and he smiled.

“See? You’re already into the idea of being a celebrity.”

Adam chuckled, meeting Dan’s eyes for the first time in an hour.

“You bet.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was a few days before they saw each other again. Adam was sick with longing the entire time but with his arm still in recovery, his texting ability was about as good as an 85 year old’s. Because of this, their communication was in short bursts; checking in, asking what was going on, trying to make plans. Eventually Lawrence gave Adam the go-ahead to come to his house, where he was acting as live-in ghost while Alison and Diana went to work and school, respectively.

Despite his protests, the board at his hospital wouldn’t clear him to return to work so soon after discharge. They told him, time and again, that he needed mental rest as much as physical. He was at the mercy of both his physical therapist and Dr. Feldman. For days, he didn’t do much more beyond eat, watch tv, and respond to emails from coworkers, friends, and family members, all of which were dying to know the gory details of the Jigsaw affair. Polite as ever, Lawrence gave them the most important plot points, citing his trauma as reason enough not to recall hacking off his foot in Shakespearean prose.

Adam’s presence was a blessing.

The younger survivor arrived around noon for their dine-in lunch. Lawrence was still as rickety as a newborn on his prosthetic foot, even with the fancy new cane he bought, so staying home was a must. Adam didn’t mind. Anywhere that wasn’t his apartment was practically Shangri-La.

Adam restrained himself from tackling Lawrence when he opened the door. _Barely._

Instead, it was a full-bodied (one armed) hug, topped off with a comical, “Oof!” from Lawrence as the younger man’s weight crashed into him. Adam kept his face hidden in Lawrence’s shoulder, fingers digging into his back. Lawrence smelled good. Fancy shower gel, probably. Or maybe it was just him.

“Hey!” Lawrence chuckled, the arm free of his cane settling around Adam’s upper back, “It’s good to see you too.”

“I fucking hate my apartment, dude.”

Lawrence snorted, understanding. He wouldn’t be surprised if Adam tried moving out within the month. Alison and Diana were expressing similar sentiments, after all. Everyone was trying to move on.

They made their way to the living room, not saying too much of anything, just relieved to be together again. Adam stayed as close as possible, sitting so his shoulder was wedged up against Lawrence’s on the spacious sectional, thighs parallel, head trying not to loll into the older man’s personal bubble. He wasn’t a child, after all, but God help him if he could stay too far for too long. Lawrence was the only thing that made sense; that actually made anything bearable.

“I never figured you for an affectionate guy,” Lawrence commented mildly as he threw an arm around Adam’s shoulders. The smaller man shifted into the space created for him, fitting perfectly. He let his head fall back against Lawrence’s shoulder, relief palpable.

“What, from the bathroom?”

It sounded stupid when Adam pointed out their first introduction was probably not the best way to judge a person’s character. Lawrence flushed and cleared his throat.

“... Does it bother you?”

Startled, Lawrence pulled his arm back from Adam’s shoulders and stammered out a lame excuse, “W-what? No! Of course not, I was just saying…”

“I mean, you’re right. I wasn’t,” Adam shrugged with his good shoulder and pulled Lawrence’s arm back down around his shoulders, “It just… feels better being close to people now.”

_To you._

What he didn’t say is how much he thought about those few seconds he’d gotten to touch Lawrence before he’d supposedly disappeared from his life for good; how much he missed the rough, bloody touch of his hand against Adam’s cheek while Adam lay on the floor, wailing like an infant; how much he’d wished they got a little more time before it all came to a dark end.

“You know, I agree,” Lawrence affirmed, breaking Adam’s dismal haze of painful memories, “Diana’s been sticking closer to me since I got home.”

Adam’s stomach flipped, “... Yeah?”

“Not so much Alison,” Lawrence added awkwardly. _Don’t smile,_ Adam thought and failed horrendously. He ran his hand over his mouth to cover it.

“Oh.”

“It’s—I mean, it _was_ pretty much over. This didn’t exactly help things. And I don’t think she really wants to take care of a cripple at any rate.”

That surprised Adam. While Lawrence was clearly a man of pride, hearing him refer to himself with such disappointment, even distain? Adam never blamed him for what he did. He’d panicked, scared out of his mind for the lives of his wife and daughter; how could anyone possibly rise above that? No, it wasn’t his fault. Adam knew that.

Lawrence clearly didn’t.

“But,” the older man eventually continued with a sigh, “We agreed to wait until after the trial. Until the dust has settled. For Diana’s sake.”

“Right.”

There was a long moment of silence, filtered by the television’s unending drone of commercials and featured content. It felt so surreal to be sitting there, together, watching some woman’s life be changed by a Goddamn _Swiffer_ when between them they’d lost about half their mobility and gained enough mental scars to last a lifetime. Adam chewed his lip, eyes downcast, until Lawrence spoke again.

“You want pizza?”

_Hell yes_.

—

Adam stayed for hours after lunch, talking with Lawrence about everything, starting at the beginning. He never thought he’d enjoy just being with someone, just _talking_ , but it was Lawrence. He fascinated him and, if Adam could believe it, he seemed to have the same effect on the older man.

Of course, Lawrence was a rich bitch from way back. You don’t just go to Harvard medical on a wing and a prayer. He’d been raised to follow his father’s footsteps, eventually open his own practice, though Adam could tell that wasn’t Lawrence’s end game. He was happy being in the hospital, diagnosing, treating, performing surgery. He said the paperwork that involved running his own practice would effectively bar him from seeing any patient personally, and while he didn’t often get to know his patients for long, he enjoyed seeing the fruits of his labor in those brief windows of time. Adam listened intently, eyes never leaving Lawrence’s face. He felt like he was actually getting a taste of success by being by Lawrence’s side, even if for a moment.

His own story was less uplifting. He told Lawrence about how he got into photography from his grandfather’s career; he was a photographer in the 60s and 70s and did some of the most amazing work Adam had ever seen. He’d taught him everything he knew about analog cameras, bought him his first, took him upstate every year to photograph the leaves in fall. His brother had never been into art, so the favoritism had burned him.

That’s what started their lifelong feud, according to Adam, but it wasn’t the only wrench in the gears. They’d often go after the same girl, get compared throughout their school years (Adam more so to his brother than vice versa, being younger), anything that might cause tension between siblings. Adam was fine with it. It had been a part of his life, as long as he could remember. The only real thing he knew deviated from the norm was the actual fistfight they’d gotten into a few years back; it was the last time they’d spoken and for Adam, that was enough. Lawrence was heartbroken by this but being an only child, he only had an idea of what Adam’s relationship to his older brother _should_ be. He kept quiet, thinking better of weighing in.

As they got to the topic of their fathers, they were surprised to find more common ground; distant but loving, always having high expectations that they felt they fell short of. For Adam, his dad wanted him to do something with his photography, seeing as he couldn’t talk the kid out of making it into a career. He’d hoped he’d be a journalist for a big paper or even National Geographic, but was privately disappointed when all Adam could get out of community college was pulp ads in a local tabloid. For Lawrence, his dad encouraged him to start a private practice, as he had, but died long before it was ever a conceivable reality.

The car accident. Lawrence hated this story. He explained, shortly, that it had been raining and his parents were coming home from a friend’s house. The truck that hit them had hydroplaned through a red light; worn tires. His father’s Mercedes had been totaled. That was all he permitted himself to remember.

Adam offered his sympathies, quietly adding his own tragic loss.

Adam’s mother had died when he was young. She was beautiful, of course, and about as vicious as any native New Yorker should be. She and his dad fought sometimes, nothing too serious, but that took up the majority of his memories of her.

With a stone in his stomach, Adam realized he didn’t remember how she died.

They stopped talking about it.

It was around that time that Diana and Alison returned home and Adam suddenly remembered he was an intruder. Everything in him told him to bolt for the door, get out of sight, when Lawrence laid a steady hand on his knee.

_Stay_.

Adam stayed.

“Hi, daddy!” Diana ran up to her father and hugged his neck, as if relieved to see him alive. Lawrence hugged her right back with a big, bearish growl, and she laughed. Adam felt impossibly uncomfortable.

“Hey sweetie, how was school?”

“It was okay. We showed our projects about what our parents do.”

“Oh yeah! You tell everyone about Dr. Dad?”

She nodded excitedly, telling him about how she said he saved lives, including Adam’s. It was then she noticed the man in question was also on the couch, her brown eyes lighting up with discovery.

“Adam!”

“Hey,” he waved lamely before getting a similar hug as Lawrence had received, “Whoa! Miss me?”

“I thought you went home!”

“So did I,” Alison wandered over, arms crossed. Adam, again, felt tiny and insignificant. Lawrence’s hand returned to his knee.

_Stay_.

“We decided to have lunch.”

“At 4:00?”

“... At 1:00.”

“And you’re still here.”

“ _Alison_.”

“Sorry. How are you Adam?”

_Terrible_ , “I’m good. Still adjusting.”

“So are we.”

Adam wanted to die.

Alison made it clear Adam wasn’t welcome for dinner, despite never saying the actual words. It was fine by him; he had packing to do. He mentioned this off-handedly as Lawrence walked him to the door.

“You’re moving?”

“I’m being evicted,” Adam snorted, mouth tight, “Do you know what time those Pro Move places close?”

Lawrence frowned, “What do you mean evicted?”

“I mean I didn’t pay rent for 3 months. What the fuck else could I mean.”

“Jesus,” Lawrence sighed, “I’ll help you find a new place.”

“That’s not what I—”

“ _I’m going to_.”

Adam probably shouldn’t have smiled. It wasn’t anything to smile about, really; being threatened about having a decent place to live. But he smiled because Lawrence cared enough to take that tone about Adam’s well-being, and that was a revelation.

They said their goodbyes for the night and despite the fact he was walking home alone, he felt anything but lonely.


	6. Chapter 6

The weeks between release and the trial were agonizing, to say the least. Physical therapy, no matter how important, quickly became Adam’s least favorite part of the week. He’d work for an hour or more, breaking a sweat trying to do simple things like lift a five pound weight or roll a ball. The simplicity of the tasks embarrassed him, especially when his arm would seize up or he’d drop something. His therapist, a woman called Caitlin, told him he was doing fine; that he was improving every day. Maybe he’d even write his name in a month’s time, as if that were good news. Adam wanted to scream.

Lawrence was doing about as well handling his new handicapped status. Walking was awkward, to say the least. He hated his prosthetic more than he would admit; hated how it felt, how it left welts in his skin, hated how it looked, hated how Goddamn long it took to put on every morning and take off at night. More than once he wanted to rip the thing off and chuck it at the wall, but he refrained, simply because it wasn’t worth it. What was he going to do without it, hop around one-legged, using his cane as a brace? Well,  _ more _ of a brace. His therapist assured him he’d get past his dependency on the cane before he knew it. All Lawrence knew for the moment is how much less of a person he felt like when he saw the juxtaposition of his legs, artificial and organic. Looking down at the yellow-orange “flesh” toned foot sitting right next to his real one, he wondered if he’d feel better with a robot’s leg than with this mannequin one. Unable to decide, Lawrence looked away, sick to his stomach, and tried to move on.

Adam was at the house more and more as the court date and the eviction loomed ever closer. Most of his stuff had already been packed away and moved to storage (on Lawrence’s dime), leaving him couchsurfing with the Gordons until further notice. As awful as the weird arm chair with matching, oversized ottoman was, Adam far preferred it to the rusty springed mattress still waiting for him at what was, for now, legally his home.

What he couldn’t stand was the cold shoulder the lady of the house was throwing him, even going so far as to ignore his attempts at small talk when they brushed by each other in the hall or otherwise shared a room. He tried to be the bigger person, taking it in stride, but Goddamn it, this was just downright spiteful. And for what? Why did she hate him so much? Adam couldn’t figure it out. Maybe she was like this to all of Lawrence’s friends; it would explain why Lawrence rarely had company over, despite the large social circle he belonged to, being so important, handsome, and rich. But then again, it felt personal, like Adam was the problem. Insignificant, plain, and penniless Adam.

He saw that look whenever he was on the couch or similarly by Lawrence’s side. He felt her hate like a fire against his back, heard that poison in every word she dared speak to him. More than once, they would lock eyes, and Adam felt every defensive instinct rise in him like an animal to its hackles.

“You alright, Adam?” Lawrence cut through the tense stare off Adam hadn’t realized he’d been engaged in. He stabbed his fork back into his spaghetti and nodded.

“Yeah, just tired.”

Lawrence nodded, returning to the conversation he’d been having with his daughter. Alison’s hateful gaze didn’t return for the rest of dinner but Adam knew it was there.

As if he didn’t have enough on his plate. He stuffed a forkful of over-sauced spaghetti in his mouth and tried not to choke.

—

Finally, the day of the trial arrived. They’d been talking to Lawrence’s lawyer, Maddox, more frequently, to corroborate their stories to ensure an easy win. Of course, that was the easiest part; Lawrence and Adam were forced to remember that day every minute of their waking lives, whether by their injuries or the unspoken questions in everyone’s eyes when they realized who they were. Talking about it was still difficult, so the challenge of testimony daunted them; especially Adam, who dreaded having to recount the horrors of seeing Kramer rise from the dead and reveal himself as the monster who’d put them in that trap. He trembled, thinking about it as Lawrence straightened his tie. The cab was waiting for them downstairs.

“You’re going to do great,” Lawrence assured him, fanning out the tie. Adam exhaled sharply, not so sure. Lawrence glanced up to Adam’s hair; a veritable bird’s nest but the younger man refused to style it any other way. He wanted so badly to grab a comb and some styling gel…

“Stop,” Adam met Lawrence’s gaze with ferocity. Lawrence let the matter die, for now.

“You ready?”

He shrugged with his good shoulder. The brace was long gone but the stiffness remained.

“You won’t be the first on the stand. I promise, you’ll be bored long before they get to you.”

“Let’s just go.”

Lawrence grabbed his hand, and they were off.

-

After opening statements, the real meat of the trial began. Thankfully, the police had no shortage of evidence, photographic and otherwise, to illustrate the gravity of Kramer’s crimes. They even had the same demented little puppet Adam had found in his living room, smashed to bits, but recognizable from the video from the only other survivor’s game. Adam tried not to look at Kramer, sitting handcuffed barely 20 feet from him, but it was hard to resist, like staring at the graphic photos of dismembered corpses. Kramer, from what Adam could see, took this in with placid acceptance, as if it didn’t really matter.

Maybe it didn’t.

Lawrence was first of them to give his testimony, following the other survivor; Amanda Young. She had scars in the corners of her mouth from Kramer’s “reverse bear trap.” Hearing her testimony, Adam was reminded of Lawrence’s recounting of it in the bathroom. Her version was so much worse; choked, distant, scared. She said he’d helped her. Adam paled, wondering if he’d been helped too. 

But then it was Lawrence. He wobbled with his cane every step to the stand, and Adam desperately wanted to go to his side, to steady him, to stay with him while he spoke. Lawrence, normally so stoic and calm, was visibly shaken. Then he was sworn in and it all melted away.

Adam fell a little in love with him then.

“State your name for the record, please.”

“Dr. Lawrence Emmett Gordon.”

Adam’s eyebrows raised. Lawrence shot him a look.  _ Don’t _ .

Adam smiled.

“And you’re one of Mr. Kramer’s sole survivors?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you describe the night of October 12th for the jury?”

Lawrence took a deep breath, looking to Adam. Adam’s smile hadn’t faded.

“I woke up in a dark bathroom.”

He went on to describe the night with more tact than Adam had prepared for his own recollection, though his voice wavered when it got to the climax of the night; the final phone call, the amputation of his foot, shooting Adam. The jury looked horrified, pale. Kramer was unaffected.  _ Bastard. _

“And… what is your relationship to Mr. Kramer, outside of the events of that night?”

Lawrence’s jaw clenched, “He was a patient of mine.”

Gasps. Just as Maddox predicted.

Lawrence was excused from the stand after a few more questions, most of which pertaining to his lasting injuries; largely, his foot. Lawrence looked about a second from crying all over again, just having to address the issue.

“Thank you, Dr. Gordon. You may exit the stand,” As he did so, Lawrence looked back to Adam. He nodded, smiling, though this quickly disappeared when their lawyer called him as the final witness.

Adam shook with every step.

“Please state your name for the record.”

“A-Adam Riley Faulkner.”

“And what is your profession, Mr. Faulkner?”

“I-I’m a photographer for a local newspaper.”

“Which?”

Christ, which one was it? His mind was a total blank, wiped clean by the sudden awareness of so many eyes pinned on him. But stage fright was one thing; having your captor and attempted murderer watch you as you told a hundred people exactly what he did to you, what he made other people do to you… Adam couldn’t breathe. His eyes were burning, his hands shaking uncontrollably, but he couldn’t look away from the placid gaze of John Kramer.

That’s all he was doing. That’s all he  _ could _ do, being handcuffed and outnumbered by the hundreds. With his gaze squarely on Adam, unflinching and attentive with an unnerving calm, Adam felt like he was alone in that bathroom with him, bleeding out all over again.

_ Game over. _

Adam began to hyperventilate.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright, take your time.”

Panicking and ready to cry, Adam tore his eyes from Kramer, finding Lawrence once again. The doctor looked agitated but suddenly relieved when Adam’s eyes met his.  _ Lawrence. Focus on Lawrence. _ Adam felt his breathing return to normal, very slowly, and he felt okay again. He just needed to keep his attention on Lawrence. Lawrence was safe. Lawrence would protect him.

_ Deep breath. _

“I work for the Herald.”

“Thank you, Mr. Faulkner. I know it’s not easy to be on the stand.”

Adam cleared his throat, nodding.

“You were in that bathroom with Dr. Gordon, were you not?”

“I was. I was chained to the opposite corner.”

“And how did you come to consciousness in that bathroom.”

“Underwater.”

Silence. Adam’s mouth formed a tight line.

He told his own side of the horrible tale, though his emotional damage was somewhat less than Lawrence’s. He was just a pawn in the game, after all. It was only his life on the line, not his family’s, not his friends’. All the same, his lip quivered when he neared the end; Lawrence dragging himself over to him, leaving his own blood smeared over Adam’s arms and face. That brief moment of hope before he disappeared.

“And what did you do when Dr. Gordon escaped the room?”

Adam wiped away a tear that managed to slip down his cheek, “I-I checked Zep’s body for the key to my chain. I thought he was Jigsaw, so I thought he had it. I found a tape player instead, just like the one we had. I played it,” he looked to Lawrence. The doctor smiled sadly, “Zep was part of the game too. He’d been poisoned and had his own rules to follow. That was when… w-when…”

All eyes were on him. Adam squeezed his eyes shut. 

_ Game over _ .

“John Kramer got up. He’d been the corpse between us. H-he told me the key was in the bathtub, b-but it’d gone down the drain. H-he… he locked me in the bathroom.”

_ Game over _ .

“Thank you, Mr. Faulkner. You may exit the stand.”

Adam all but bolted from the chair, crowding Lawrence at their table as soon as he got to his seat. Lawrence wrapped his arms tight around the younger man, promising him it was okay, that it was all over.

Kramer wasn’t watching him anymore.

“In light of Mr. Faulkner’s evident trauma from the events that followed, I will recap from the police report,” Maddox began, reading from freshly produced piece of paper, “A call came in at 6:40 am, October 13th. A young woman reported a man with an amputated leg bleeding to death, claiming to have escaped from a basement in a nearby warehouse. Paramedics and officers arrived on the scene 10 minutes later to find the man in question, Dr. Gordon, and the caller, Jane Sanchez, RN. Dr. Gordon, in his traumatized state, was able to give brief statements as to the whereabouts of the basement and the remaining victim, Adam Faulkner. He was rushed to the nearby hospital for immediate surgery and blood transfusions while all immediate units were dispatched to the warehouse. Inside, they found a trail of blood, that of Dr. Gordon’s, that lead to the bathroom where Mr. Faulkner lay, unconscious but alive. The body of Zachary “Zep” Hindle was also recovered, though he was pronounced dead on the scene from serious blunt force trauma. Mr. Faulkner was rushed to the same hospital for similar care as Dr. Gordon.”

And there it was.

There was so much evidence. Fingerprints, housing records, a paper trail a mile long, and their own testimonies all spelled seven life sentences for John “Jigsaw” Kramer; one for each victim. Kramer, for his part, barely spoke at all, though they could see something greater threatening to slip from the corners of his mouth.

“A life is such an arbitrary amount of time,” he said simply once convicted, “The cancer will get me long before peace finds any of you.”

Adam shook like a leaf.

_ Game over _ .


	7. Chapter 7

Maybe he should’ve gotten the death sentence. The moral quandary of it still plagued Adam several weeks after the fact, while he was effectively living with the Gordons. He tried not to think about it too much; Dr. Feldman had said that the trial’s end should help him get some closure and he should try to keep living his life, but that was easier said than done. So much was changing around him that he barely had a fixed point in the chaos.

His own apartment was now long gone, his possessions divided between the spare corners of Lawrence’s loft and the storage space he’d rented for him. A lot of stuff had to be thrown away, due to its disused state or the simple fact that he couldn’t afford the space, but the important things made the move. Most of his clothes, his photography equipment; those had been priority one. Everything else from the mattress to his recliner to his sparse dinnerware, those had been tossed out or left for the complex to deal with.  _ Keep the fucking deposit _ . Adam was just glad to be out of that roach motel. 

He thanked God and Lawrence endlessly for the movers that got his stuff out of there (mostly Lawrence) and into the storage unit a few minutes from the Gordons’ place. And… that was it, for the time being. He still made it into work every day, more or less, but between that and just trying to exist, Adam couldn’t figure out where the fuck he was going to end up. He knew he couldn’t stay there for much longer. They’d listed the loft as soon as Alison and Lawrence found their new places; one upstate, where the schools were better, and one in midtown, closer to the hospital. Two guesses as to where either spouse was headed.

So where did that leave Adam? With a lot of PTSD and no real direction. Only the mental illness was new, he supposed.

For his part, Lawrence was dealing with not only the prospect of moving but his impending divorce. He and Alison had talked a lot about it after the trial, though exact details like custody and visitation were still in the air. Alison seemed reasonable in the aftermath of the trial, as if her sympathy for Lawrence’s emotional baggage had been renewed. This gave him hope for the proceedings of their divorce; maybe he’d walk away with something that really worked. Maybe it would be okay. He’d seen his friends go through much tougher negotiations, even losing the right to visit their children and half their assets. Alison wasn’t like that, though. She just wanted to be free from the burden of Lawrence’s loveless presence. Her words. He thought it was a little dramatic.

“So I get two apartments?” Diana asked one night while Lawrence was tucking her in. He stopped, stomach tight.

“What’s that?”

“I know you and mommy aren’t staying together,” the 11 year old sat up, hands folded in her lap. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she slumped, “Will I still get to see you?”

“Of course you will,” Lawrence pulled her close, kissing the top of her head, “It’ll be a little different. I won’t be here all the time but you can always call me to come over.”

Diana smiled, just a bit. Her tiny arms wrapped tight around her father’s abdomen, squeezing tight.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, honey,” Lawrence hugged her back, “But it’ll be okay. Mommy and daddy are still friends, even if we won’t be married anymore.”

“... Okay,” her voice was so tiny, he barely caught it. Lawrence sighed, kissing the top of her head, then either cheek, making her giggle.

“I love you, honey. More than anything in the world.”

“I love you too, daddy.”

With that, he wished her goodnight and made his way to the living room, where he’d unofficially been sleeping the past few nights. Adam was there, taking up the armchair and ottoman. He looked over, attention drawn from whatever Adult Swim program was on. Something loud and colorful and too mature for Diana, at any rate. Lawrence collapsed onto the couch and drew up the decorative blanket.

“Everything alright?”

“As much as it can be.”

Adam licked his lips and rolled off the armchair, joining Lawrence on the couch. The older man scooted over, making space for his live-in houseguest. For whatever reason, the second Adam’s body slipped into the couch next to him, Lawrence felt altogether far too warm. He attributed it to Adam being a veritable space heater.

“You wanna talk?”

Lawrence just sighed, “Diana knows we’re getting a divorce. It’s just a conversation I’d been hoping to put off.”

Adam nodded, looking off to the tv again, before replying, “You’re doing the right thing.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

“You and Alison aren’t right for each other. You need someone who’s not going to bitch at you all the time, especially while you’re injured.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She is.”

“And you’re not biased.”

“Nope.”

Lawrence chuckled, wrapping an arm around Adam’s neck and pulling him into a playful bear hold. Adam squawked, shoving at the older man to no avail. Instead, he dug his fingers into Adam’s hair, screwing up the bird’s nest “style” beyond it’s normal dishevelment, until Adam started batting his chest and protesting louder. Lawrence laughed, holding on tight.

Eventually he released him, much to Adam’s relief. He cursed him out in a hushed, flustered voice, cheeks red in the low light of the darkened living room. Lawrence just grinned, sinking into the cushions. Adam half-heartedly retaliated, shoving at Lawrence’s perfectly coiffed bangs until they were as disheveled as his own.

“You’re a moron,” Adam bit out, though his mouth was twitching in effort not to smile. He ducked his head, losing that fight. Lawrence agreed anyway, combing a hand through Adam’s hair to help loosen the new tangles. It barely helped.

Then there was a moment, when Adam looked up again, when everything else sort of faded into a background static and all Lawrence could focus on was the face in front of his. Adam was just… looking at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth opening and closing ever so slightly, like the effort to actually say what he wanted to was too much. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t figure out how to say it, whatever it was. Lawrence felt his cheeks grow hot, felt his stomach tighten, as Adam tried to figure out what it is he wanted to say. But then it died, Adam looked away, huffing a mirthless laugh.

“Ah, I’m about to pass out. Gonna brush my teeth,” and then he was gone, padding away into the darkened bathroom, and Lawrence had to remind himself to breathe.  _ Breathe _ . Adam was gone, for the moment, and he could settle back into the couch cushions and let the white noise of adult cartoons on tv lull him into a dreamless sleep. Lawrence rubbed pointlessly at one cheek, tired eyes drifting to the tv, trying very hard not to wonder why he felt so Goddamn overheated all of the sudden.

Well, there was the obvious answer.

Lawrence stowed the thought, angry with himself over it. It wasn’t appropriate. He told himself it was just the trauma; something about coping mechanisms and imprinting. Adam was safe. Adam was familiar. Adam, asshole that he was when he wanted to be, didn’t judge him. Maybe he just missed that in another person, after being stuck with someone he didn’t love and making friends with people who didn’t care.

But there was more to it.

Sighing, Lawrence sat up to undo his prosthetic, the various straps becoming second nature by now. It didn’t make it any less cumbersome, though. He hated the whole tedious process but as much as he wanted to fling the thing across the room, he set it gently on the coffee table by his couch, same as every night. He pulled his leg closer to his lap to rub away the soreness from a day’s worth of walking. As his palm ghosted over the end of his leg, where he could feel the hard stop of the bone beneath a few layers of skin and scars, Adam returned from the bathroom. Lawrence immediately sat up, embarrassed but unsure why. Adam didn’t notice. He just curled up in the armchair, wrapped in a guest blanket up to his nose, and sunk into a wordless sleep. Lawrence turned down the volume on the tv, muttered something short of a “good night”, and watched the bright colors of late night television until his eyes slipped shut.

-

Alison and Diana were already gone by the two men woke up in the living room. Well, by the time Adam woke up. Lawrence had long since been awake, working in his office with light music playing to help him focus, a cold cup of half-drank coffee to the right of his laptop. Adam awoke, like most mornings, with a stiff neck and a sore back. Still, it beat the hell out of the mattress that had come with his old apartment. All those ancient springs and colonies of fleas and God knows what else.  _ Wait, what do you call groups of fleas? _

Adam set about his morning routine; showering, shaving, grabbing a cup of coffee from the pot Lawrence had made not too long ago. His breakfast included a couple frozen waffles and a banana from the fruit basket, mostly because he knew Lawrence would give him Hell if he didn’t attempt to eat an adult breakfast. These items in hand (and the coffee mug rim delicately hanging from his teeth), Adam wandered to Lawrence’s office. He was greeted by a distracted nod, Lawrence’s eyes staying glued to his screen. Adam grabbed the armchair from the corner of the room, scooting in closer to the edge of Lawrence’s desk so he didn’t have to perform a balancing act while he ate his breakfast. As predicted, Lawrence raised a judgmental eyebrow at the barely nutritional spread, but he refrained from commenting. Probably because of the banana.

“Whatchya doing?”

“Just finishing up some case files for work,” Lawrence clicked a few times and resumed typing. Adam nodded, sipping his coffee.

“Can I see?”

Lawrence cut his eyes at him, briefly, “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“C’mon.”

“No.”

Adam scoffed, pulling out his phone and clicking through text messages. Dan had asked about getting lunch.

“So, uh,” Adam cleared his throat after a few minutes of silence punctuated by Lawrence’s typing, “Since you’re all doing the apartment hunting thing, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me when I go out. Just so I don’t end up living in another shithole.”

Lawrence sat back from his computer, smiling at the corner of his mouth, “Sure. We can go this afternoon—”

He was cut off suddenly by the house phone ringing from the other end of his desk. Lawrence answered with a surprised, “Hello?” Adam returned to his coffee.

“... Yes, this is he... Uh, really? I… yeah, I have time…” Adam chewed his waffle, watching the older man with mild curiosity. Lawrence’s brow was furrowed, mouth pulling to the side with annoyance and confusion. Adam thought it was a good look—as if Lawrence had a bad one. Blood drained and recently amputated, maybe. That hadn’t been so good, “Yeah, he’s here too.”

_ That _ got Adam’s attention. Dumbfounded, he pointed to himself. Lawrence nodded, mouthing the word “reporters.” Oh.  _ Great _ . Adam set his food aside and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting like a child. Lawrence held a hand over the receiver for a moment, addressing the younger man, “We don’t have to do this.”

“Yes we do.”

Lawrence frowned but didn’t say otherwise. They both knew this was inevitable, though that didn’t make it any easier. He just wanted the whole ordeal to be over and behind them, mostly for Adam’s sake. His recovery was slow-progressing, aided mostly by Lawrence being so readily available, but he hadn’t been spending too much time with anyone else, which he insisted was fine. Lawrence and Dr. Feldman disagreed.

Biting the bullet, Lawrence transferred the call to the speakerphone and sat back, allowing the interview to continue. Adam was holding himself moodily, glowering through his eyebrows at the speaker. Lawrence huffed a quiet chuckle, somehow charmed by the nearly-30 year old’s childish posturing. Adam looked to Lawrence, feeling his eyes on him, and Lawrence smiled back, one hand supporting his cheek. Adam looked away, pink quickly coloring his cheeks.

“Alright, go ahead. You got both of us.”

—

There were more interviews to follow and eventually, phone calls didn’t suffice. People wanted pictures, wanted to sit down and buy them coffee, lunch, and even dinner. Adam never thought he’d be someone hounded for a conversation, as if he was so interesting, and to tell the truth, he didn’t know if it suited him. 

Adam had always considered himself more or less an open book, but this didn’t mean he thought himself worthy of the limelight. Being the center of attention was an uncomfortable thing for him, even back in school when he would participate in the lackluster photography exhibits the club would host. His preferred interaction was brief and impersonal; guests would stop, look at his clumsy attempts at artistic expression, nod to him, and move along. It was only when they engaged him in conversation, asking what his goal was with his series, that Adam would lose his ability to speak and shake, wide-eyed. These memories had been long forgotten until recently, when it all came flooding back. The only difference this time was that he had Lawrence to bear the brunt of that attention.

Lawrence, for his part, was handling their minute fame a bit more easily. This was likely because of his experience as a public speaker, though in those cases he was addressing a small group of med students about a patient, not hoards of reporters about his own trauma. The difference was palpable and slowly driving Lawrence insane, though damned if he’d admit it.

If they had to find a silver lining (they did), the free meals in fancy restaurants would be a major one. Adam, being Adam, had something of an unrefined palette so Lawrence would have to coach him through the menus, explaining what various French and Italian words meant, what a close American cousin might be, and other such patronizing things. As much as he hated it, he was privately grateful. The last thing he wanted was to choke down escargot in front of a reporter.

Stupidly enough, it was one of the things Adam was in awe of about Lawrence; not the cultural knowledge or effortless charm he exuded (although that was up there). More than anything, it was the grace with which Lawrence handled the stress of moving, filing for divorce, the endless and trivial interviews they agreed to, and most of all, taking care of his younger half.  _ Half. _ Adam loathed himself for even thinking such a thing; as if he could ever measure up to Lawrence, let alone call himself an equal. Nevermind that he was almost 10 years behind Lawrence, he was a lifetime away from ever being anything the older man was. He lacked the wealth, success, and opportunity to do so; he knew it. He could only hope to doggy paddle in his wake and thank his lucky stars if he kept his head above water.

He didn’t used to feel like this.

Adam clearly remembered a time when he was okay with himself. Not happy, but okay. He could appreciate his angular looks, the way he carried himself, how he interacted with people and understood the world. There was a time he was even proud of himself for working for the up-and-coming newspaper that he did and proud of the photographs that he had published. Now, however, he was barely able to state his name without becoming a weak, fragile thing, plagued with self-doubt and loathing.

What the fuck happened?

Where was the Adam Faulkner who could stand to be alone for more than five minutes? Where was the man who could lose himself in the music of his dark room, who could call bullshit without hesitation, who picked and won fights (both verbal and physical), who could look at himself in the mirror and smirk, who shot the world through a camera lens with confidence?

He died in that bathroom.

Adam knew he couldn’t tell Lawrence any of this. The second he felt poorly, in any way, Lawrence was there to reassure and comfort him, though this only made him more guilty. He hated this; being dependent on someone for literally everything, from food to social interactions. It made him feel like a child and normally, that was the point when he would bail in a relationship. But not Lawrence. Never with Lawrence. Any time Adam felt sick or angry and was ready to pick up his jacket and go, he took one look at Lawrence and that was it. He’d sit back down, sinking helplessly into the warmth of the doctor’s smile—the one he knew was just for him—and his kind blue eyes. Something, or everything, about him drove him insane with longing. He wanted to open himself entirely, spill his guts, and let Lawrence take it all away. He wanted… Fuck, he didn’t even know. He just wanted  _ Lawrence _ .

He had him, and that was terrifying.

“You alright?” Lawrence interrupted this reflection suddenly, and Adam remembered where they were. The train, headed downtown, to do their first television interview. He checked his phone absently, nodding.

“Just thinking.”

“You nervous?”

“Nah.”

Lawrence knew he was lying.

“It’ll be 10 minutes, tops.”

“You’ll do most of the talking.”

“I’ll talk as much as you want me to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched; a half-formed smile.

“Do you get tired of being so nice?”

“Nah.”

Adam looked up. Lawrence just kept smiling.  _ His _ smile.

“It can’t last.”

“What can’t?”

“You being so nice to me.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

_ Who says I will? _

Adam said nothing and tried to prepare for the interview. The train pulled to their stop.


	8. Chapter 8

There were a million things Adam wasn’t prepared for. Being somewhat famous was one of them. He also wasn’t prepared to spend every waking moment with a man who was, at one point, supposed to kill him, but that happened too. Go figure.

They were up to two shows a week by early December. Everyone wanted to know everything about them; see what Jigsaw saw in them, feel what they felt, fighting for their lives. Make some kind of sense from the violence. Amanda, the girl with the reverse bear trap on her head, wasn’t hounded nearly as much. Some, but not as much. The press had gotten her story and wrung it dry over seven months ago; she was barely good for more than a refresher blurb or a five minute interview about the trial. Old news. She seemed happier that way or at least, she was content to keep her distance from people. Even before the news coverage, during the trial, she barely said more than a few words to Adam or Lawrence; apparently the camaraderie of trauma didn’t work retroactively.

Them, though? They were _famous._ Hardly a day went by without them getting stopped on the street or approached in a store by people trying to figure out who they were. _We’re the Jigsaw survivors_. _Oh, my God!_

Adam didn’t actually mind it as much as he had expected. He found a way to make the constant interruptions worth his while, by snapping a photo of the person in the moment they realized who he was. His timing had gotten better as it happened more and more, recognizing telltale signs in every interaction. By now he had an extensive collection of the faces of surprise, recognition, empathy that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He figured he could probably make it a photo series, if he ever got a show together. _Grandpa would’ve loved that_.

Lawrence was handling it in his own way; with reserve and modesty, though Adam could tell it was bothering him. Lawrence was holding onto so much guilt from the events of that night that reliving it at a moment’s notice—on the street, at the grocery store, Hell, when he was seeing patients—it wasn’t easy for him. How could it be?

Adam lamented the fact that he’d never been very comfortable with his emotions, let alone someone else’s. That made talking Lawrence down from his nigh constant panic attacks all the more difficult, often leaving him stammering uselessly. Eventually, he figured it out. Words weren’t so important as merely holding Lawrence’s hand and being present by his side. While he was relieved he could help, it scared him a little. Was he really worth that much to this man that he could have this kind of effect?

Holding onto that hand now, after being cornered in the cereal aisle, Lawrence was able to politely engage some wacko who just _had_ to tell them how it should’ve been impossible for them to survive. For Christ’s sake, he’d drawn diagrams. Adam had to admit, he was a little impressed, but mostly annoyed at the man’s insistence that Adam of all people should’ve died there. _Well fuck you very much._ Lawrence began to work interception as soon as the man started waving his phone with the drawings into their personal space, and Adam had to duck his head to hide his amused smile. Lawrence’s fingers tightened on his own and Adam could’ve died, right there next to the Frosted Flakes.

After what felt like an eternity, the enthusiast gave up, wished them a good day, and Lawrence muttered a hateful word under his breath. It was only after their intruder was gone that he noticed Adam’s smile and mirrored the grin.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Adam bit his lip, still grinning. He pulled his hand away, “Just get your cereal.”

Not two seconds later, a pair of girls in their late teens approached them. Lawrence spun around awkwardly when he heard their excited whispers, still a bit clumsy on his prosthetic. Adam’s hand was at his back in an instant, ready to brace him in case of another fall (not that it would help much). The girls gazed up at the two men with awe; a familiar and now-dreaded expression. Lawrence grit his teeth before flashing a polite but charming smile. Adam felt his heart sink.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry but,” the one on right, a ginger, breathed shakily, “You’re Lawrence Gordon, right? A-and Adam Faulkner?”

Adam confirmed it, wishing he had his camera on him. His hand itched for Lawrence’s.

“Holy shit,” the other one muttered with a crooked, excited smile, “That’s nuts.”

“Yeah, pretty nuts,” Adam repeated, “You want a picture?”

Of course they did. They all did. Lawrence bemoaned this internally but said nothing as soon as Adam tucked up close to him, all four of them squeezing together to fit in ginger girl’s iPhone screen. Lawrence had the urge to wrap his arm around Adam’s waist, pull him close to his chest and keep him there, but the photo was over far too quickly for him to do anything besides smile. He grabbed Adam’s hand as soon as the girls moved out of their personal space, lacing their fingers together. Adam tensed, cheeks flushing bright pink.

“Sorry to bother you,” the other girl apologized; the one with about a thousand freckles over her dark skin, “It’s just… really cool.” She nudged the ginger girl, nodding. The ginger girl paused, taking the two of them in for a moment, before resisting the urge to explode with delight. Lawrence furrowed his brow, frowning.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah! You guys are just,” she shared an excited look with the freckled girl, “Really cute.”

“Chelsea!”

“Fuck, okay. Sorry! It was great meeting you two!”

The practically ran away then, leaving both men frowning with confusion. _What the Hell was that?_ It then occurred to Adam that men didn’t typically hold hands, did they? Not unless they were...

He flushed a dark cherry color, pulling his hand away, and suddenly became very interested in the cereal adorning the shelves behind them. Lawrence watched him, brain working through the same logical steps. He blushed, a subtle, soft pink, and checked his phone.

_Fuck._

The rest of the grocery run was alarmingly uneventful; or would have been, if Adam paid attention to any of it instead of getting lost inside his own head. His hand was still warm from when Lawrence had been grabbing it tight. He knew it was for his anxiety; to ground himself while under stress. They both knew it. But Adam never told Lawrence how his hand gripping his own made heat rise over the back of his neck and into his cheeks, how it made his chest tight and uncomfortable but God forbid Lawrence pull away.

He was being a fucking idiot.

Adam told himself the entire subway ride back to Lawrence’s side of town that he was being ridiculous. Something about the PTSD that was tricking him; making him see and feel things that weren’t there. He tightened his hands in his lap, hugging his share of the groceries, and spared the older man to his left a glance. Lawrence was looking at the window, watching the underground lights flit by. Adam tightened his jaw, allowing himself to study the profile of the doctor.

He wasn’t _not_ handsome.

Adam supposed, if he had to admit it, that Lawrence was pretty damn attractive. Smoldering blue eyes, an almost permanent smirk, a jawline to cut glass; these were features anyone would call attractive and Adam had to agree. And it wasn’t like Adam hadn’t had these kinds of thoughts before but they were always about celebrities or people he’d otherwise never know. It was never someone he was friends with; someone who was so openly affectionate, who’d saved his life and would seemingly spend the rest of his trying to make up for shooting him. Granted, it was a pretty unique situation but the fact remained that Lawrence’s smile made Adam so weak in the knees that he was lucky he had the doctor there to catch him.

He was fucked.

But thankfully he knew what was a side effect of his PTSD and what was actually real. Or at least, he told himself he did. Looking back to Lawrence, who’d been lost in his own thoughts for the duration of this reflection, Adam sighed quietly to himself.

_Yeah. Fucked._

—

Things like that started happening a lot more or maybe they just noticed it now. It didn’t stop them from compulsively holding hands or sitting close together on buses and subways though. The comfort of physical touch easily outweighed the embarrassment and awkwardness that followed the supposed “outings.” Thankfully, most people had the good sense not to make verbal assumptions, even if their body language said more than enough.

Apartment hunting was not as easy. Almost every agent would ask if the two were looking for a one bedroom apartment or if a loft would suit the needs of a growing family. Adam refuted this quickly, an angry blush in his cheeks, while Lawrence rolled his eyes.

“It’s just me,” he snapped presently.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just thought… I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

Adam grunted, eyes on the floor and arms over his chest. Lawrence cut his eyes briefly before addressing the man behind the desk again, “So, what do you have for $800 a month?”

And on it went.

It bothered Lawrence how defensive Adam was but he reminded himself that Adam was a defensive person by nature, trauma or not. And frankly, he was a bit of an asshole, so why was he so annoyed? Why was _Adam_ so annoyed? Lawrence pulled his mouth to the side, reflecting on the whole mess on day three of their hunt. Adam was bundled up in his heaviest coat and scarf, terribly affected by the blistering cold of mid-December. Lawrence made the fashionable decision and kept to his overcoat and leather gloves, though his ears and nose were a painful shade of red, even in the somewhat insulated car of the subway.

He tried not to be discouraged by the myriad of things on his mind. Adam. Moving. The impending divorce. Returning to work. Everything, _everything_ felt so heavy and singularly upon himself, though he knew it wasn’t really true. Adam, despite what people may assume, was a fairly steady person. Resilient, anyway. His presence made all the difference in the world; a fixed point in the chaos. Lawrence appreciated that, even as the stress tightened his chest and made his good foot bounce restlessly.

One thing at a time.

The most important thing, at the moment, was finding Adam a suitable place to call home. This was much easier said than done. A part time job with an obscure newspaper was hardly a cash cow and as it was, Adam had to again and again assure the renters he would be able to make his monthly bills. Lawrence, again and again, had to offer to be a guarantor. It was the only way to even get the renters’ attention, though Adam was often informed this would not be enough. His credit history was really _that_ bad.

Adam swore a blue streak while exiting every single office.

It was affecting him terribly; as much so as the razor sharp coldness of December in New York. He shook at Lawrence’s side, angry and freezing in the thin cotton coat wrapped tightly around him. Lawrence tried to ignore it.

Still.

A thought occurred to him. It turned his cheeks red as his ears but, really, it was the only solution; not only that, but one that eased the stress tightening his chest just a bit, flooding it with giddiness instead.

“Why don’t we do it?”

Adam looked up, nose and mouth covered in the thick flannel of his scarf.

Lawrence shrugged, “Why don’t you move in with me?”

He could see the flush of Adam’s cheeks peeking up from the edge of the scarf. He smiled.

“For one thing, we’re getting nowhere with what you can afford, and I know you don’t want to leave Manhattan.”

Adam grunted, eyes forward.

“And second, you deserve a nice place to live. The two places I’m deciding between have more than enough space for the two of us.”

_I don’t want to be alone either._

“I guess,” Adam sat back, foot tapping on the floor of the subway, “How many bedrooms?”

“Three bedroom, two bath in one,” Lawrence’s eyes went skyward, recalling the plans of the loft and the townhouse respectively, “Four bedroom, three bath in the other.”

“Why do you need all those rooms?”

“You can turn bedrooms into other things.”

“ _Like?_ ”

“Like an office, for one. A home gym.”

Adam sighed dramatically, looking away, “Well, if you’ve got rooms to spare.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He could see the shifting of the scarf around Adam’s smiling mouth. _Asshole_.

“Come on. You’ll be in the city, in a nice place for once. You don’t even have to pay rent.”

“I’m not _poor._ ”

Lawrence said nothing, shifting his foot on the floor as the subway ground to a halt at would be their stop; the fourth apartment in a day. He looked to the younger man, whose eyes were fixed on the floor.

“Adam.”

“Fine,” He looked up, pulling his scarf away from his mouth, “But I’m paying _something._ ”

Lawrence grinned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I'm making up for it with an extra long chapter. Enjoy!

Moving is never fun.

Even if you’re the Gordons and have enough money to afford professionals, moving _sucks._ Diana had said this, at any rate, and while Alison scolded her child for using such language, no one actually disagreed. One does not easily vacate a home of four years, nor a marriage of 12. Pragmatic as ever, the former Gordons divided the belongings and color coded the boxes to ensure their would be no confusion; red for Lawrence, blue for Alison. Their separate homes were ready and waiting, keys in the hands of their new owners, and Adam stood in the midst of this maelstrom, feeling hopelessly out of sorts.

He didn’t belong here.

It was no secret that he was the odd man out; he knew it, Lawrence knew it, and Alison definitely knew. Hell, she nearly said as much more than once, before Lawrence or the ever perceptive Diana cut her off. Thank God for that kid. Pathetic as it might be for a near-30 year old to bond to a preteen, Adam found he and she had a lot in common. Number one being their preference for Lawrence over Alison, but that was between them.

He told himself he was okay. It would be okay. The divorce would come and go and it would be okay. He had nothing to do with it, he had nothing to worry about, except that he did and he worried himself sick. _Why?_ It wasn’t his fault. Alison and Lawrence weren’t right for each other; this was inevitable. More than once, he felt like the _other woman_. Stupid, seeing as he and Lawrence weren’t…

_Were they?_

He felt like he was about to throw up.

He never said any of this, to anyone. Not Lawrence, not Diana, not Dan, not Dr. Feldman. The second he allowed himself to think about any of this—of what Lawrence was doing for him, of what his life had become because of him—he felt himself slipping off his precarious ledge above insanity and depression. He snorted, thinking about it now, among the thinning pile of boxes littering the living room; it was the last official day of the Gordons’ home being just that. _Depression. Check._ Or at least, he assumed that’s what was triggering his recurring flashbacks to the awful explosion of Lawrence’s gun and wishing, pitifully, that bullet had lodged in the other shoulder, above his heart.

He was going to be sick.

So he ignored it, tried to focus on moving out boxes, blinking tears away.

_Fuck._

“You alright?” Lawrence and he were alone in the empty apartment now, Alison and Diana waiting in one of the trucks downstairs. Adam held the last box, labeled KITCHEN and marked in red. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Lawrence paused, giving him space to try again, but Adam only tightened his jaw.

“... Me too.”

And that was that.

-

The new place was amazing.

Adam still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he actually lived here; that this was his home. He still felt like a guest, even weeks later and with his copy of the key firmly locked into his sparse key ring. It made sense; his family had never been wealthy. They lived in a one floor, two bedroom ranch house far outside the city and even though he and his brother fought constantly, they shared a room until Adam left for community college.

Suffice to say, the townhouse was different.

Adam’s room was the second master, or what could closely be considered as such. The other two bedrooms on the floor below were converted into an office for Lawrence and a guest room, mostly for Diana. They were slightly smaller than the two real bedrooms, with smaller closets and a shared full bath with a shower/tub. Adam and Lawrence had their own bathrooms and their own floor. Why this concerned Adam so much was nothing short of a mystery, so he ignored it and wandered, again and again, up and down the stairs, through the living room, the open dining room, the kitchen, down to the basement and back up to the porch and garden out back. Four floors. He lived in a four story brownstone. He doubted he’d ever accept it.

The entire place looked like a page out of a style catalogue; one of the ones in a dentist’s waiting room or that got featured on HGTV. Hardwood floors, new “distressed” furniture, reclaimed wooden cabinets. It was this whole “rustic contemporary” thing that Lawrence wouldn’t shut up about. Adam thought it looked nice and that was about it. More than anything, he was just glad that Lawrence had divorced his taste from Alison’s, as well as everything else. The few times they’d gone over to her new house upstate, they were partially blinded by the stark white, ultra-modern design of the interior. Adam speculated that the ex-Missus may harbor a secret desire to live in an Apple store. Lawrence almost threw up from laughter when he’d said it.

Christmas and New Year’s came and went without much hoopla. They didn’t have any decorations to speak of and neither man felt like purchasing the whole mess from scratch, so they kept it simple with a small tree, a few lights, and 3 stockings. New Year’s followed suit, though they were invited to considerably more parties. Well, Lawrence was, and Adam followed as his plus one.

People love to talk.

They ignored it for the most part and rang in the new year with a round of applause and a quick side-hug. As they pulled away from each other, Adam’s face was flushed from more than just the endless champagne practically being poured down his throat. Lawrence didn’t notice, or didn’t act as though he did, and simply kept him by his side for the rest of the night.

_God, I’m so fucking drunk._

And then it was January. Lawrence’s divorce was reaching finalization and with it came an air of tension and silence Adam never experienced before. Alison was on her soon-to-be ex-husband’s back more often than not and Diana was staying in her unofficial room less and less. Lawrence was angry, withdrawn, and couldn’t spare a thought that wasn’t either about work or the proceedings. Adam gave him his space, knowing he wasn’t going to be much help anyway but fuck, it sucked. It really, really sucked.

For some inexplicable reason, Adam felt partially responsible.

Sitting in his room, boxes strewn about, still half-unpacked, he wondered what his place in all this was. He still felt so foreign in Lawrence’s life, no matter how much the man insisted otherwise. He supposed it was bad timing. Everything with him was bad timing. That kind of thing tends to beat you down after a while. Adam shifted, drawing his legs up to his chest while perched on the edge of the pillow-top mattress Lawrence had bought for him, still sans actual frame. He felt sick. He _always_ felt sick.

Adam imagined a reality where he wasn’t such a waste; one where he was as successful and wealthy as Lawrence, where he never got trapped in that bathroom, where he could actually _be_ somebody worth something. But then again, would he have ever met Lawrence in that world? Would they cross paths if not for some psycho with a God complex? His back hit the mattress with a soft thud and he stared at the smooth, popcorn-less expanse of the ceiling above him. Adam wondered if all this… whatever it was; if it was worth it.

He wondered if Lawrence thought he was worth it.

Adam closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

Finally, Lawrence came home. Adam continued to lie on his bed, listening to the sounds of the lock downstairs turning, the door opening, the uneven steps of his roommate ( _roommate!_ ) entering. He announced his arrival home, redundant as it was, and Adam called back an almost inarticulate noise. Footsteps upstairs, pausing between the second and third stories. Adam watched his doorway until Lawrence appeared with a breathless smile. Adam couldn’t help but return it.

“Remind me why you got a three-story brownstone when you can barely walk.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes, “How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright. How was work?”

“Boring,” Lawrence was technically still barred from doing any real work while he adjusted to his return. This meant little more than mounds of paperwork and co-signing case files for his interns and med students, which sounded about as fun as a frontal lobotomy. His hands were tied for the time being. Adam could see the frustration tight and high in his shoulders. He sat up.

And that was life, for the most part. Lawrence worked during the day, Adam was called in to do shots for his newspaper sporadically, and they tried to adjust. The press continued to pester them, especially when they were out together, and tabloids began to emerge. As they had privately feared, rumors began to circulate. Speculations and assumptions were made. Their living arrangement was mistaken for something altogether more intimate and, though they never spoke of it, it created palpable tension in their relationship.

_Relationship._

They didn’t sit quite as close anymore. They didn’t hold hands. They barely touched at all, as if it were too taboo; as if the other would burn them like a hot coal. And like a hot coal, they craved the familiar warmth of each other but kept their distance, afraid to get too close.

It made Adam sick.

But fuck it, what could he do? Lawrence was neck deep in divorce proceedings and Alison was being, in short, a bitch. Somehow, probably on the advice of her lawyer, she’d gotten the idea Lawrence was more absent than not and his company would only be a detriment to her daughter. Lawrence told her to fuck off, but not in so many words. Adam listened to the older man go on, at length, about the situation well into the night, as he did most every night.

“She says Diana’s mentally scarred, as if it’s my fault? As if I’d put that fucking gun to her head? As if I don’t love her as much as she does?” Lawrence limped awkwardly, as he usually did when he was too upset to correct his gait; Adam ignored it and continued eating cereal—his dinner, “I can’t believe she’d… Well, no I can believe it, I just thought we were past all this bullshit. I thought we had an understanding.”

“What’s she saying though? How much time are you getting with her?”

“Joint-custody is apparently out,” Lawrence growled, thumping his fist against the doorframe of the living room, “I’m down to three days out of the month, on her schedule. What the _fuck!_ Since when did I become some fucking absent… abusive father? I’m not. I’m not! I’m not that guy!”

Adam set his bowl aside, waiting to drink the remaining sugary milk from the empty bowl until Lawrence was done. It seemed disrespectful otherwise. Somehow.

“She’s got me over a fucking barrel. Somehow, it’s all my fault. I’m a victim too! Jesus, I was locked in a bathroom! I had to cut off my fucking foot! Apparently, though, some maniac holding a gun to their heads was my fault.”

Adam picked at his nail beds. Lawrence finally ran out of steam, turning to him.

“Are you even listening?”

Adam glowered briefly before answering, “Of course I am.”

“You’re being awfully quiet.”

“I thought you were just venting.”

“I’d like to know I’m not fucking crazy here!”

“You’re not!”

The air was electric. Adam looked away, jaw tight.

“Your lawyer’s gonna sort things out anyway, so I don’t know why you’re worried.”

Lawrence stood there for a long moment, looking ready to breathe fire. Adam could barely keep eye contact with him, like a beaten dog backing down from a fight. He could’ve said anything; he almost did, until he stopped, turned, and left the room. Adam forgot about his cereal bowl and watched television late into the night.

This couldn’t keep happening.

Maybe it was cabin fever. Maybe they weren’t actually fit to live together. Either way, something had to give. Their interactions were getting shorter and more stressful, largely due to the looming date of the divorce finalization. Lawrence barely spoke, distracted and angry. Adam sulked moodily, as much as he tried not to. This wasn’t about him. But it did affect him. Living with Lawrence was slowly turning into a melancholy Hell and it killed him to think this was the same man who’d been holding his hand and cracking wise about the wack jobs that approached them in the street. The same man who’d made him feel like he was worth something to someone now barely looked at him, barely spoke, barely existed beyond anger and resentment.

They were falling apart.

“Jesus Christ,” Lawrence swore viciously under his breath the morning of the finalization, “You know she took my fucking Harvard memorabilia? All of it. My sweater, my lacrosse jersey, my trophies; all of it. She went to fucking NYU!”

Adam curled his lip but said nothing. He was used to it by now.

“ _What._ "

He looked up. Lawrence was glaring under his brow, hateful and ready to pounce. Adam grit his teeth before sliding his cup of coffee away, half-drank and cooling rapidly.

“Nothing.”

“Fuck’s sake, just say something and stop sighing for once.”

Like a spark, Adam ignited. He stood, shaking with anger, ready to fight, “You know she’s right.”

“What?”

“Alison’s right. You don’t have enough time for Diana.”

Lawrence stood, tripping slightly over the leg of his chair, “What the fuck did you say?”

“Maybe you should more than a couple days but come on, _Larry,_ ” the older man curled his lip, “You’re a fucking practicing oncologist at the head of your department! You barely sleep as it is! How can you say that’s going to change?”

“Fuck you!” Lawrence snarled, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“What does it matter? I’m not fucking going!”

True, he wasn’t. They never planned on it. They barely even spoke about the actual court date, but somehow Lawrence assumed he’d be by his side. Realizing this was a foolish assumption, the older man gathered his coat and briefcase and stormed out the door, not even sparing Adam a good bye. Adam was left standing there alone, a dark storm in his head, and fighting back tears.

_Was it worth it?_

-

Adam knew two things about the day going forward: that Lawrence would be gone for hours and that his phone would be turned off. Unwilling to brave the snow-laden streets of New York in mid February, he decided to distract himself in the meantime by cleaning the first floor of the house, which had fallen into dishevelment in the past few weeks. He struggled with the larger tasks such as vacuuming and reaching up to clean the high shelves, largely due to the constant ache in his injured shoulder, but he kept working until he didn’t feel so sick with guilt. It was a good way to keep his mind clear, as much as he hated the chores. Plus, he could use it as a peace offering when Lawrence got home that night, after the sure-to-be Hellish day.

He cleaned the entire house by the time he heard a knock at the door.

Racing down the stairs, Adam wondered if Lawrence had really forgotten his key in the wake of their argument. No, the door had been locked from the outside; he hadn’t touched it. As he approached the door, he mentally prepared himself to shoo away a religious fanatic or a precocious paparazzo. Instead, when he opened the door, he saw him.

His brother.

_Fuck._

“Hey, Adam.”

Adam stood up a bit straighter, eyes sharp and focused, like a cornered animal. His brother, Jacob, stood about the same height as him—maybe a little taller. Both of them shared their father’s square jaw and crooked smile. He flashed that smile now and to anyone else, it may have read as sheepish. Adam knew better.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Wow. You wanna try that again?”

“ _Hello._ What are you doing here?”

“Well, I figured it’d been a while since we’d seen each other and seeing as you got kidnapped by a serial killer and all—”

“That was four months ago,” Adam quipped, eyes narrowed.

“Three,” Jacob corrected.

“Fine. Three.”

“So I’m late,” the older man rolled his eyes, “At least I’m here. Can I come inside or do I have to freeze my balls off out here in the snow?”

Adam hesitated, everything in him still on edge from his and Lawrence’s fight, though it was hours ago. His fist clenched around the doorknob on the inside, debating just slamming it in his brother’s face, but a small, sure voice told him to give him a chance. Adam pretended it didn’t sound like Lawrence. Trusting the voice, he stood aside and nodded for Jacob to enter.

Jacob made a show of checking out the new place, after briefly stopping by the door to shake the snow off his jacket. Adam watched it fall to the floor, a stark contrast against the dark wood, and clenched his jaw tight. Thankfully, he didn’t have to ask his brother to remove his snow-and-salt caked shoes; dress shoes at that. He must’ve just come from his job. Adam knew Jacob was involved in some bullshit “marketing” company or whatever he called it. He’d always been drawn to scams; said it was the best way to ensure profit, preying off people too stupid or naive to know better. He’d gotten most of his practice in on Adam while they were growing up, leading to the current, very justified mistrust.

_Fucker._

Jacob was walking the floor of the townhouse now, eyes darting everywhere from the expensive flat screen to the designer couches, to the open-concept, farm style kitchen. Adam swore he could see his brother’s blue eyes morph green as he wandered deeper into the home, tongue running over the tips of his teeth. Finally, he stopped at the island breakfast bar (marble, of course). He tapped his knuckles against the rock and whistled, long and low. Adam ignored him.

“Do you want anything? Coffee, tea… Milk.”

His brother raised an eyebrow, “Coffee’s good.”

Coffee it is. Adam wandered over to the Keurig and picked out a flavor at random. Lawrence insisted that there was a difference between the roasts but Hell if Adam could tell. Dark, medium, blonde; it was _coffee_. He could feel Jacob watching his shoulder the whole time and by coincidence it happened to be his bad one. He wondered if Jacob even knew he’d gotten shot. Probably not. No one really cared about that part of the story. It didn’t quite have the same flare as Lawrence having to lose his foot to save his family.

“So,” Adam pushed the steaming mug towards his brother, along with a spoon, bowl of sugar, and milk, “You good?”

“Oh yeah, you know me,” Jacob went about adding what seemed to be a disgusting amount of sugar; Adam watched with mild interest, “Same old, same old. Actually, I’m trying to start my own business. Kind of like a marketing firm, you know?”

Adam’s mouth twitched, “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s going pretty well so far. Got a couple parties interested. Big names. I can’t go too into detail for legal reasons but you know.”

“Sure.”

Jacob sipped his coffee, eyes darting around the kitchen briefly, but not so much as to where Adam would miss it. He smiled that same, crooked smile.

“So, hey, enough about me. How’s life after Jigsaw?”

Adam tightened his mouth, glancing down briefly, but Jacob saw it all the same. His smile never faltered.

“Ah. Kind of boring, actually.”

“Seriously? I don’t buy it.”

“Seriously,” Adam repeated, annoyed, “The trial’s over, he’s in jail, now I’ve just got paparazzi jumping on me at all hours asking what kind of sandwich I ate last week. It’s fucking boring.”

Jacob shifted, setting his coffee down while he considered what he was about to say. The hairs on the back of Adam’s neck stood on end.

“Well, hey, if you’re looking for something to do, I could always use some help with the whole marketing thing.”

_Oh no._

“If you want,” Jacob stood a little straighter, smiling wide. Predatory. Adam stood back, “I could even use a partner.”

“Jake.”

He flinched, but continued, “Seriously, Adam. And you’d be getting a real deal too; only a couple thousand and you’re—”

“I don’t have that kind of money!”

Jacob stopped, blinking before speaking again. This time, the pleasant cadence of his voice was gone, replaced with an edge that Adam was more familiar with. Memories of his older brother shoving him into walls and throwing baseballs at the back of his head caught up with him. A broken camera. Adam’s fist clenched.

“What the fuck are you talking about. Have you seen your fucking house?”

“It’s _Lawrence’s_ house.”

“Jesus, semantics.”

“No,” Adam bit out, “Not semantics, not my money. I’m broke as fuck, same as always.”

“And you got _nothing_ from the trial? Are you shitting me?”

That wasn’t entirely true. While Kramer’s estate had been granted to the survivors and their families, the man had very little wealth to begin with. Most of it was tied up in property, including the warehouse with all his little “inventions,” for lack of a better term. Unanimously, Lawrence, Adam, and Amanda decided to sell the property to the state and divide the money, leaving Adam a little better off than before, but nothing to write home about. Adam explained this, briefly;

“No.”

Jacob scoffed, shaking his head. Then he laughed with a horrible, snorting kind of guffaw. Adam watched him, eyes wide and jaw tight.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Jacob finally said in a low, dangerous tone that flooded Adam’s stomach with bile, “I was gonna give you a chance to just up and come out with it, but you’re so fucking selfish you gotta make me ask like an asshole.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Adam’s voice shook despite himself.

“You’re gonna stand there and tell me your fucking sugar daddy isn’t loaded? That he didn’t buy you a fucking house, a new wardrobe, and all your brand-new camera bullshit?”

“That’s not true!” Adam sputtered, now visibly shaking, “We’re not together!”

“Bullshit! Everyone fucking knows, Adam, just fucking admit it!”

“We’re not!” Adam screamed, hands flying to his hair. Jacob scoffed again, suddenly invading his space and shoving him hard enough in the chest so that Adam stopped breathing for a second. He coughed, hugging his chest.

“You’re such a shitty liar. You know it’s all over the internet? You’re a fucking trending topic on Facebook whenever you guys buy groceries,” he shoved him again, backing him into the corner of the countertops, “Did you fuck him before or after he got divorced?”

“I didn’t—” Adam wheezed, but was shoved again, back hitting the quartz countertop.

“You blow him too, huh? Right when he comes home from making all that Goddamn money? You a good little boy for him, Adam?” another shove. Adam coughed violently, tears stinging his eyes, “I can’t believe some fucking rich bitch comes into your life and suddenly he’s more important than your actual family. How fucking pathetic are you?”

Something snapped.

For the first time in 28 years, Adam fired back. He clocked Jacob across his jaw, sending the older brother stumbling back. Adam saw his chance. He bolted, trying to get away from the violence he knew would follow, but Jacob grabbed the back of his shirt before he could get too far. He yanked him back to the countertops, cracking his back against the beveled edge of the quartz. Adam screamed, knowing if he didn’t actually break his spine, there would be considerable bruising. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he grabbed Jacob’s neck with both hands and drove his knee hard into his brother’s groin. Jacob doubled, falling to the ground in a heap. Adam stumbled away, just out of reach, silently sobbing for the immense pain in his back. Unfortunately, Jacob was quick to recover, owed to years of lashing out whenever he got angry; he knew by now how to take a punch as much as deliver one. He wobbled to a stand and grabbed at his younger brother’s hair, wheeling him back around.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he grunted hoarsely before throwing the back of his fist straight into Adam’s left eye. Adam collapsed, holding his face, praying to God Jacob hadn’t broken his orbital socket. The older sibling spat in his direction; an empty gesture since the swelling in his jaw made the motion too painful to actually produce any saliva but it stung all the same. He stepped gracelessly over Adam, making his way to the door, “Good seeing you, little bro.”

Adam would’ve cried but his injured eye had already closed. Instead, he screamed, and the front door slammed shut.


	10. Chapter 10

Lawrence would’ve found the meeting room rather pleasant if it were not for the current shouting match being held between him and his nearly-ex-wife. In their 14 years of marriage, they’d never screamed like this. They’d wanted to, as most couples tend to, but held back. No such luck now. There was nothing left to lose, save for their dignity, and God knows what spite will do to pride. He couldn’t believe that this was the same woman he’d met in that trendy little café uptown all those years ago; who’d read poetry to him and let him sneak kisses under trees at the park. The same woman who’d called him her prince charming, her knight in shining armor, was now calling him a bastard, accusing him of cheating, and so much more.

“I did not cheat on you!”

“Then who the fuck is Sabrina, Larry?!”

“She’s a med student!” He shouted, throwing his fists wildly like a child throwing a tantrum. He stood from his chair while Alison leaned threateningly over the table that barely separated them, like tethered dogs, “She had a crush on me, okay! Nothing happened!”

“Will you both calm the fuck down??” Maddox shouted suddenly, long past tired of this game, “You’re already getting the divorce, you don’t need to make this worse!”

The silence that followed was electric and angry; Lawrence was concerned he might create a static fire if he moved too sharply. Gingerly, he sat back down, eyes cast away from Alison. She was similarly flustered and busied herself with fixing her hair, which had shook apart from its professional up-do in the commotion. Maddox sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is a no-contest divorce, do you understand?” he finally said carefully, as if explaining it to children. He might as well have been, “We’re almost  _ done _ . If either of you seriously tries to accuse the other of adultery as grounds for divorce, that means we get to keep doing this for  _ months. _ It’s not just a way to get more shit from the other person.”

Alison snorted and looked away, arms folded.

“And to be honest,” Maddox shuffled his papers, mouth tight, “I don’t give a fuck who cheated on who.”

“Whom.”

“Shut up, Lawrence. We’re done with the assets. This is just about Diana.”

Lawrence thanked God his daughter wasn’t here for this. She was staying at a friend’s house for a few days, so that she didn’t have to deal with the anger exuding off either of her parents. She knew, of course. She wasn’t stupid, nor a baby as her parents insisted treating her. But whatever she could do to get through this faster and easier, she would. Lawrence admired her for that, even if the guilt of putting his daughter in this situation began to overwhelm him.

“The first weekend of every month,” Alison suddenly interjected. Lawrence looked up, shaken from his reflection.

“One weekend? Are you insane?”

Alison pursed her lips.

“You tell me, Matthew,” she turned to the lawyer at the head of their table, “How much time and energy could an oncologist at the head of his department  _ really _ have? You barely had enough time to kiss her good night before…”

_ Say it, you bitch. _

She sat up straighter, eyes narrowed, “Before he became disabled.”

“I’m  _ not _ disabled,” Lawrence growled, teeth bared like an animal.

“Sorry,  _ differently  _ abled.”

“I cut off my fucking foot for you!”

“Because that really helped with a maniac pointing a gun to our heads!”

“I was in that bathroom for 7 hours!” Lawrence roared, “What else could I do?!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dick to your patients, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“You think I deserved this??”

“Yes!!”

“Enough!” Maddox slammed his binder on the desk, settling down the supposed adults yet again. They looked up, wide-eyed, as he stood.

“One weekend out of the month is out of the question,” Maddox bit sharply, “But Lawrence, joint-custody isn’t realistic. We’ll make every other weekend your guaranteed custody, with open visitation. Okay?  _ That’s _ what’s going to work with both of your schedules.”

The two said nothing and looked away from the table. Maddox ran a hand over his face, exhausted.

“I’ll draw up the agreement and get you to sign within the next few days,” he continued, shuffling everything into his briefcase, save for a few papers filled with text, with about a hundred places to initial, “But we’re done. No more negotiations, no more calling me at 3 am to scream about the other person, just sign this, and the marriage is dissolved.”

Lawrence and Alison looked over the document, then to each other.

_ How did we get like this? _

Lawrence could see her then; the same bohemian hipster he’d met in that café, with a smile that could’ve lit up New York. He remembered how she’d blushed and hid her face when he told her that, when he told her she was the girl that fairytales were written about; when they’d first made love and he told her she was like an intoxicating dream. He remembered how she’d called him a prince, told him he was too charming for his own good, told him he must’ve been one of God’s favorite angels, and he’d blushed all the same.

Now there they were, almost 20 years later, enemies filled with resentment, hatred, and anger.

_ Where did it all go? _

Lawrence signed the papers and left without another word.

—

When Lawrence got home, Adam was watching tv and eating cereal. As bad as he felt the entire way back, he felt a little better seeing the familiar shape of Adam’s bird’s nest hair against the back of the recliner. He offered a small greeting, hoping the younger man wasn’t still upset about their argument that morning. His heart sank a little when Adam all but ignored him, sparing a small grunt of acknowledgement. Lawrence stopped at the doorway to gather himself, prepared for the worst. All he hoped for was a little comfort in Adam after the day he’d had but he’d come to accept his life would always be something of a battleground. Steeling himself, Lawrence rounded the armchair to address the younger man.

“Hey, about this morning—” he stopped, seeing Adam’s black eye. Adam didn’t look up. In fact, he got smaller, “What the hell happened?”

“My brother came by,” Adam’s voice was small and tired. Lawrence swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“He  _ punched  _ you?  _ Why? _ Did you call the police?”

“It’s not that serious,” Adam set his cereal down on the ground stiffly, back still killing him. Lawrence watched him with ever-growing concern but said nothing, waiting for Adam to speak up. Ask for help. Something. 

“I punched him first.”

“What??” His eyes darted to Adam’s right hand and lo and behold, his knuckles were an angry shade of red. He bemoaned Adam’s temper, hoping that was as far as his injuries went. Lord knows he wasn’t going to volunteer anything on his own accord.

“It’s not important,” he insisted, “It’s just who he is. It fucking happens.”

“It doesn’t just  _ happen,  _ Adam!” Lawrence shuffled his feet, not quite pacing, “I know you two don’t get along but—”

“It doesn’t matter, Lawrence! Seriously. I don’t even care.”

“You don’t care,” the older man repeated, eyebrows raised, “Your brother assaults you and you don’t care.”

“No! I don’t!”

“Well Jesus, you sure sound like you don’t care.”

Adam sighed sharply through his nose, glowering at nothing before trying to move on, “Everything work out with Alison?”

It was Lawrence’s turn to sigh. He threw his briefcase to the opposite couch with a disgruntled noise and rubbed at his forehead.

“Depends on what you mean.”

-

_ So you’re going back to see him. _

_ We live together, Alison. _

_ Yeah, I know. _

_ Jesus Christ, is that what it is? You think we’re— _

_ I know you are. The whole world knows you are. _

_ Well, we’re not. _

_ You think I’m that stupid? I’ve seen this before. I just hope you weren’t this shifty with your friends when we were together. _

_ It’s not like that! _

_ I don’t care. I truly don’t give a shit about how much you bend over backwards for that kid. I don’t. I just wish you’d admit it. _

_ We haven’t done anything! _

_ Just forget it. I’ll see you around, Larry. _

-

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” Lawrence finally said, returning his attention to Adam, “I want to talk about what’s been going on with you lately.”

Adam frowned, confused briefly. His voice was careful and cautious when he replied, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid,” Lawrence felt his tone drift toward the fatherly sternness he’d learned in the years of raising a daughter who had a penchant for misbehavior. It disturbed him just how much she and the 28-year-old “adult” had in common, “I know something’s been bothering you but you won’t talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the younger man snipped back, steadily growing more defensive. Lawrence could feel his anger rising and did little to stop it. What did it matter? He knew where this conversation was going.

“Adam,” his voice came out sharp and dangerous, “I know there’s something wrong.”

“ _ Yeah _ , fine, there’s something wrong! But it’s not going to get fixed by talking about it so just leave me alone.”

“Can you act like a fucking adult for once,” Lawrence snapped, hand clenching by his side, “Just talk to me!”

“No! I don’t  _ want _ to!”

“Why?! Why don’t you want me to help you??”

“Because you’ve helped  _ enough! _ ” Adam shouted, eyes bright and teeth bared, “And now I can’t even look at you without feeling guilty, okay??”

Lawrence stopped; he hadn’t expected that, “... Why do you feel guilty?”

“Because I fucked everything up for you, Lawrence,” Adam ground out, head down. His anger was still present, though now underscored by a heavy anguish, “And I’m not fucking worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Lawrence quickly countered, stepping closer, “And you didn’t fuck anything up. None of this was about you.”

“I know that!” Adam suddenly stood, the effort seeming herculean with the pain crippling his back, “But that doesn’t change anything. If anything it makes it worse. The divorce, the bathroom, the past  _ six months;  _ I know that shit had nothing to do with me but here the fuck I am in the middle of it like some fucking tourist!”

Lawrence was at a loss. Between the hours of fighting with his ex-wife—scratch that,  _ years _ of fighting—and coming home to see the broken shell of the man he’d finally found some solace in, he was on the verge of a melt down. 

Something snapped.

“I don’t care.”

Adam blinked rapidly up at him, fighting the urge to cry. His normally brilliant green eyes were now dark and angry, though wet with the tears barely being held back. Lawrence clenched his jaw tight before speaking again.

“I don’t fucking care how you feel,” he growled, “I’d do it again. I’d get locked in that fucking hellhole, I’d cut off my foot, and I’d come back for you over and over again. Because you  _ are _ fucking worth it.”

Adam cried but said nothing, shaking his head. His hands grasped his hair tightly, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold himself together, however little he could manage it. Lawrence didn’t move; he just watched him and felt his heart crumble, piece by piece.

“You’re such a fucking moron, Lawrence,” the younger man finally said, voice rough, “Who does that? Who fucking says shit like that? Why does everything have to be a fucking fairytale with you? Why can’t you just be an asshole and leave me alone??”

“I’m not going to!”

“Go to Hell!”

Lawrence felt like he could breathe fire. Outside, the snow had began to fall again, silent and steady. The sun had long since set and all was dark outside except for the flurries of white falling against the windowpane. The wind began to howl, quietly at first, then with gaining force. Maybe they’d be snowed in.

Lawrence doubted they’d survive.

“Sorry, am I hearing this right?” he began again; simple enough, though his delivery was more threatening than expected, “You want to leave? You want me to kick you out?”

Under normal circumstances, this threat held no water; Adam knew this. However, with the mounting snowstorm battering against the windows, he had to wonder how serious Lawrence might be. He imagined himself freezing to death in the snow and felt a disturbing amount of acceptance.

“Just stop so being so fucking nice to me,” Adam bit back suddenly, eyes sharp and locked on the older man, “Why do you even bother? Why even kid yourself; I’m not worth the trouble. You know that, right? Everyone else fucking knows. Do you know what they say online every time there’s a Goddamn article about us posted? Poor, handsome Dr. Gordon, stuck with this loser; I can’t believe he left his wife for him!”

“You know that’s not what happened!”

“It’s starting to feel that way!”

“What do you want me to say?!” Lawrence shouted suddenly, the surprise nearly knocking Adam off his feet, “Just stop acting like a child and tell me!”

“Fuck you!” Adam shouted back, lurching into Lawrence’s space. The taller man tipped back slightly, momentarily losing footing with his prosthetic, and for a brief moment Adam panicked. He tried to regain his verbal footing as Lawrence found his physical one, “Stop acting like a fucking saint for once and just tell me why you fucking care!”

“Because I feel guilty, alright?!” Lawrence roared, swinging his fist wildly in frustration. His hair fell into his eyes, making him look nearly feral, “It’s my fault you were in that bathroom and I can’t get through a single fucking day without feeling like I’ve already killed you!”

“I wish you had!” Adam countered sharply, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. Lawrence felt about ready to do the same, “I wish you’d just shot me in the fucking head so I wouldn’t have to deal with this!”

“Don’t say that!”

“I mean it!”

“No you don’t!” Lawrence’s voice cracked at the very end; he could feel the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Adam was now sobbing openly but holding himself just out of Lawrence’s space. He wanted to grab him, shake him until he’d calm down, hold him and keep him safe; everything.

“Well if you’re such an expert on how I feel,” Adam sniffed, eyes wet, angry, and locked on Lawrence, “You tell me why we’re fighting.”

Lawrence floundered then, taken aback. Another curveball. Maybe Lawrence didn’t know Adam as well as he’d like to think. He also suspected that it was a deliberate action; being so unpredictable. Adam was a loner by instinct after all, with Lawrence seemingly being the outlier. He knew this. Adam knew this. That’s why this all sucked so much.

What was the question?

_ Why were they fighting?  _ Gun to his head, Lawrence didn’t know. He didn’t want to fight. He was tired, so Goddamn tired of fighting everyone, all the time. He hated this; hated feeling wild and untethered, screaming at the top of his lungs about shit that  _ did not matter. _ Adam had pushed him there; to the very edge of his sanity, and maybe that was on purpose too. He could feeling himself there now, toeing the edge of a great chasm, staring at the abyss and feeling that heavy, bone deep pull. He saw it in Adam’s eyes, once his favorite shade of green, now swallowed by a deep, angry black. He could fall into them, easily.

What were they fighting about?

Why did it hurt so fucking much? Why was Adam like this? Why did he push him away, make him grapple for him, dig his nails into his flesh and pull him back in, as if rescuing from a riptide, pulling, pulling, pulling…

It could’ve been simple.

That’s what killed him the most. This all could have been so simple but the two of them were such assholes, they had to make it this hard. Pride upon pride; it was never going to be easy.

Maybe he was too optimistic.

Maybe Adam wasn’t being difficult. Maybe he just didn’t care. Lawrence couldn’t bear to consider it but he had to, staring down at this angry young man; a child, honestly. He was a fucking child and Lawrence was so much older. He felt it now especially, as if he should know better. As if he should  _ be _ better than this. He should’ve never let it get this far.

_ Why _ were they fighting?

Lawrence came up with about a thousand things he wanted to say, what he privately hoped was true, but nothing he could admit, so he said nothing at all. Adam finally looked away.

“You’re such an asshole, Lawrence.”

And that was it. He simply turned and left the doctor in the living room, ascending the stairs to his room and shutting the door. Not a slam, as Lawrence had expected. Just an audible closing, firm and final.

Lawrence watched the snow fall outside.


	11. Chapter 11

Lawrence didn’t know how long he stood in the living room, watching the snow fall and trying to get his head straight. He was still angry—angry from the whole day fighting with Alison, angry that he had to come home and fight with Adam (again)—but it was muddled with sadness, guilt, and fear; all because of Adam.

Truth be told, he’d been expecting this; the blow out. He wasn’t a pessimistic person by nature but it wasn’t exactly a leap of the imagination to see this coming. Adam handled stress about as well as a child did and Lawrence was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even for more mentally stable people, this would’ve been too much.

He wondered if this was the end.

Finally jarring himself from his morose meditation, Lawrence walked numbly to the kitchen to prepare a small dinner, if only because he had to. His appetite had been shit lately; mostly just sugar and fat when he actually felt hungry. Stress did this to people, Dr. Feldman assured him one night when Lawrence had felt weak enough to call the almost estranged doctor (Adam hadn’t seen him in months). The important thing was to make an effort to rise above these urges and keep a steady, healthy diet. It would do a world of difference.

Lawrence stared at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich before him and frowned.

_Close enough._

He ate the sandwich in a handful of bites, staring at the middle distance and sighing. He couldn’t hear Adam at all, meaning he was upstairs in his room; probably brooding, probably blasting that angry indie punk shit he loved so much. The thought endeared him for reasons Lawrence had long since given up understanding. All the anger, all the pettiness, all the childishness; past it all, there was Adam, sweet and genuine, and Lawrence would do anything for him.

His stomach churned.

He threw away the paper napkin he’d been eating the sandwich on, put the used knife in the dishwasher, and turned off the lights. For a moment more, he watched the snow fall in front of the back door window, catching the light from the backyard. He could almost hear it weighing itself down as it piled on the ground, compacting and settling. He thought of the crunch of cold snow under his boots, the gritty slide of ice and salt, the way Adam would grab his arm if he started to slip on the sidewalk. He thought about ice skating with Alison and Diana. He thought about Adam slinging a snowball at the center of his back.

He went upstairs.

The floor creaked under his feet, mocking every heavy step on his long journey to the top floor. At times like these, he agreed with Adam’s original opinion of the place; three stories might’ve been excessive. It felt like climbing a mountain every now and then, especially after a long day. Now it felt like Everest. To make matters worse, his mind had lurched from its static and shifted into overdrive. Now he had their fight replaying on a loop with Adam’s voice screaming in his ears, loud, sharp, and pitiful.

_It doesn’t matter._

_Why do you care?_

_I wish you’d just shot me in the head!_

He felt sick.

He passed by Adam’s room when he finally made it to the third floor, stopping briefly to press his ear to the door. He heard light shuffling, telling him that Adam was awake and moving about, but nothing more. Lawrence supposed that was good, but a large part of him was anxious. After Adam’s outbursts during their fight, he was concerned the younger man might be harboring suicidal thoughts. Leaving him alone for the night filled him with dread. At the same time, he knew smothering him with attention would only drive him away, possibly closer to that edge. Lawrence felt like he was walking a tight wire with the younger man and with one bad foot, he was likely to fall.

What else was new?

With a sigh and a dull thump of his fist against Adam’s door frame, Lawrence continued to his bedroom. Things would be better in the morning; or at least, he hoped they would be. He wouldn’t have to go into work until that afternoon, so maybe he and Adam could do something together. They had been drifting apart for the past few weeks and Lawrence blamed himself for getting so wrapped up in his own head. Adam must’ve been so lonely the whole time. He had to do something to make up for it. Maybe they could go downtown and see the park; walk in the snow together. It occurred to him that Rockefeller Center would have its Valentine’s decorations up about now and he blushed, eyes down.

Lawrence went into his bathroom and started running the shower. Steam quickly overcame the mirror and he found himself empathizing with his foggy reflection. He undressed, mind on autopilot. He paused when he was fully naked and stared down at his prosthetic. A permanent reminder of the biggest mistake of his life. Lawrence snorted mirthlessly and set about taking it off. As always, it became a balancing act to undo the straps and stumble into the shower, but he managed, chest feeling ready to cave in. He sat on the build-in, stone shower seat, and let the scalding water drown out his thoughts. When that didn’t work, he thought of Adam, and allowed himself to want him.

Lawrence closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

He imagined Adam waiting for him in his bed rather than sulking in his own. Nothing lewd, of course; just Adam, ready for bed, smiling his sweet little smile Lawrence privately called his own. Lawrence often fell asleep to this thought, finding it comforting, though the pain of wanting it made his chest feel tight. It was sweet but so far away; a reality never to be realized, probably. He’d have to settle for the phantom warmth of this shadow of Adam. Same as always.

After his shower, Lawrence dressed for bed in little more than an old shirt and his boxers. The prosthetic came with him from the bathroom to the bed and set alongside his bedstand, same as always. He hefted himself into his plush pillowtop, settling under the soft comforter he’d inherited from his mother long ago. Her smell was long since lost in the decades of uses and washing, but Lawrence pretended she’d always smelled like all-natural, cruelty-free detergent. Pillows fluffed and positioned to support his head just enough to see the television on the opposite wall, Lawrence began channel surfing, hoping to find background noise to keep him company while he fought with consciousness.

Same as always.

-

In his room, Adam had his headphones up to a deafening level, blasting the same angry indie band he always listened to. Despite the immense pain in his back and the familiar ache in his shoulder, Adam decided to distract himself with finally unpacking the last of his boxes. Better late than never, as someone had said earlier that day. He sorted and put clothes and various knick-knacks away, pinning up old photos as makeshift decoration.

There were some newer pictures in the collection; he’d gotten his negatives back from the police and was able to quickly develop them in his walk-in closet before he’d moved his clothes in there. A couple of the first pictures he’d taken of Lawrence were on his wall now as a result and he felt a little stab of happiness when he looked at them hanging over his desk. He stopped now, plucking his headphones from his ears, and stared at his haphazard shrine. Creepy, maybe, but it was better than the bare off-white at any rate. The anger he held onto still burned hot though less so now as he looked at the candids of Lawrence. He was still so frustrated. He needed to vent. Well, he wanted to. Maybe he didn’t need to. It might be better to let this go.

Maybe he should let a lot more go.

Was he suicidal? Actually, truly suicidal? Probably not, he decided. Death was still as daunting as ever, even having faced it the number of times that he had. Plus, he worried what Lawrence might do if he was gone. God knows no matter what he did, if Adam took his own life, Lawrence would blame himself. Adam could never do that to him.

He was fucked.

But Adam didn’t want to die. Not really. Truth be told, he didn’t want to go anywhere that wasn’t by Lawrence’s side. _God, how fucking sad is that?_ He loved to joke about how much Lawrence cared about him but the street ran both ways; he’d be lost without him and, if it came down to it, he would give everything he had for the man.

_Angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic._

Tattoo that shit on his forehead, that was him all over. _How did he know?_ It bothered him more than he let on. How long had he been watching Adam? How long did it take to see that he had, up until that point, nothing to live for? He felt sick just thinking about it now, as he frequently did these days.

_Angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic._

_Angry. Apathetic. Pathetic._

Well fuck that.

Angry, yes. Pathetic, _fine._ But he was done being apathetic. His entire life was a series of missed opportunities and regret. Not this time. He refused to let another one slip him by because of his damned pride and stubbornness. And damned if Lawrence finally up and realized he could do better than coddle his sorry ass for the rest of his life. Adam was going to fight while he still could, if he hadn’t already ruined it.

He stood at his bedroom door, headphones dangling around his neck, and tried to motivate himself to move. _Come on. Go._ With every passing moment he could feel his resolve weaken. He thought about all the consequences of his options; stay or go, it’d likely end in misery. Same as always. But inaction, he told himself, led him to that fucking bathroom and that was reason enough to go. _Go._

But not without pulling some pants on over his briefs.

Feeling emboldened by the decision, Adam opened his door and peered into the dark hallway. He knew this house by now, even so much as to call it home, but it was quite another thing in the dark, snowy night. Swallowing, Adam took a few deep breaths before venturing out. He turned off his light for good measure, hoping this would ensure some good fortune.

The walk to Lawrence’s room never felt so long.

Adam had only been in the older man’s room a few times since they’d moved in. For some reason it seemed to be a breach of privacy to do so unless strictly invited, and he had to assume Lawrence felt the same about his room. It was always about distance, wasn’t it? Adam huffed to himself, finally ending his journey at the solid oak of Lawrence’s door.

_It’s just a door._

Still, Adam hesitated, hand raising and lowering by fractions as he weighed his options. Should he knock? Should he just enter? What if Lawrence was still in the shower? The idea flustered Adam but he told himself, no, it would be okay. _Just go._

_No more apathy._

With a deep breath to steady himself, Adam slowly opened the door and stepped into the semi-darkness of Lawrence’s room. He could see him in his bed a few feet ahead, half-reclined and sleepily watching whatever was on the tv on the opposite wall. He sat up upon noticing his intruder, though he didn’t say anything. They stared at each other sheepishly for a long moment before Lawrence finally spoke.

“... Everything alright?”

_No, you moron, we had a massive fight an hour ago._ Adam snorted quietly and closed the door behind himself.

_Keep going._

Lawrence’s carpet was soft under his feet. It felt softer than the one in his own room, but that was probably just his imagination. The smell was different though, he knew for sure. Soft, inviting, masculine; it was all so very Lawrence. He loved that smell so much. He’d try to sneak a deep inhale whenever they were close enough and probably came off looking like a creep more often than not. Now he was surrounded by it. If nothing else came from this suicide mission tonight, at least he’d have this.

He climbed into bed without a word from either himself or Lawrence. Thank God, too. His throat had all but closed up and he didn’t think he’d be able to speak if he tried. He didn’t though.

What could he possibly say?

_Lawrence, I need you._

He’d said that before in situations more dire than this. It’d come so naturally then. The fear Lawrence had been killed before his eyes was too much for him; he’d broken then and shattered a moment later when Lawrence began doing the unthinkable. He became dust when Kramer had shut the door.

Can you rebuild ashes?

He could try. Adam shuffled under the covers, where it was warm and inviting, and moved until his body blindly found Lawrence’s. The first touch of his hand to Lawrence’s arm startled them both. It’d been so long since they touched; the once common hand holds and long hugs becoming taboo as the two men drifted apart. Adam couldn’t remember the last time they held hands. Without another thought, he slid his hand down Lawrence’s arm and interlaced their fingers. It felt like home.

His body followed soon after, irresistibly attracted to the soft warmth of Lawrence’s skin. He smelled like the body wash from his shower; clean and bright. It was a contrast to the sleepy musk of his room and Adam found he could drown in it.

They were practically tangled up together now. Adam’s leg had inched over Lawrence’s and Lawrence had shifted, wrapping his arm around the smaller man’s frame and pulled him flush against his side. Adam’s head was on his shoulder, ear pressed just over his collarbone, where he could faintly hear the rapid, nervous rhythm of Lawrence’s heart. Adam’s hand curled over Lawrence’s stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. _He’s alive. We’re alive._

_It’s okay._

Adam turned his face into Lawrence’s chest and sighed out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Lawrence huffed a short chuckle, finding the action endearing, and together they lay for long minutes. Lawrence traced his fingertips along Adam’s spine, pressing his nose to Adam’s hair, and Adam felt peace for the first time since the bathroom. Maybe ever.

They weren’t sure how long they stayed like that; cuddled together, breathing each other in, hands roaming carefully, assuring themselves this was real. They were real. Adam could’ve stayed like this forever. He hoped Lawrence felt the same. The way the older man was shifting indicated his arm might be falling asleep. Well, fuck that. Adam refused to move.

He could tell Lawrence wanted to say something. It was probably about their fight, maybe about their current position. He refrained from speaking however, careful not to break the spell, lest it be destroyed forever. Adam didn’t think it would be. Whatever it was between them, this was strong. Stronger than anything he’d felt before. He felt safe.

Eventually, simply touching and being held by Lawrence wasn’t enough. Adam needed more and felt this need from the pit of his gut and the ache in his chest. He needed all of Lawrence but God, that was terrifying. Baby steps first.

He had to kiss him.

Anxiety overcame him like a tidal wave. All peace and safety he’d felt before was immediately swept away in the dreadful undertow. His entire body became stiff, coiled with tension and apprehension. He couldn’t breathe. But he had to do this. He’d wanted it for so long though he could never admit it before. It was all too much; needing someone, needing them to need him. Maybe those classic rock songs were onto something. No, fuck, this was not the time to think about Cheap Trick. Lawrence was looking at him now, feeling the change in body language, and if he didn’t act quick, Adam would have to actually voice this shit racking around in his brain. God knows that’d be a mess.

_Go._

“Is everything okay?”

Adam looked up at Lawrence and felt himself back on that ledge between complacency and inception. It didn’t help that that abyss was tinted the same baby blue as Lawrence’s eyes, into which Adam fell helplessly every time. This was it. His moment. All he had to do was fall.

He kissed him.

As kisses go, it was fairly tame. Adam had to pause briefly to fix the angle and Lawrence was little better than shellshocked, but it worked. It was them. It was everything Adam had hoped it would be and more because it was real and Lawrence held him close, one hand on his back and one just coming up to the nape of his neck to keep him right there with him. Adam melted against him, stomach to stomach and hands on his chest, wanting to feel Lawrence’s skin under his palms. The thought thrilled and terrified him, but no more so than the feeling of Lawrence’s tongue licking at his lips did. Without another thought, Adam opened his mouth and moaned against him.

He was so fucked.

Lawrence had shifted so that he was on his side; barely hinting at the notion of being on top of Adam, which, yeah, that could work. That could definitely work. Adam panted slightly through his nose as their kiss intensified and his hands, once innocently placed against Lawrence’s chest, now gripped at the fabric of his shirt with intensity that surprised himself. Lawrence’s hands had turned into claws at his back and one on his ass. Adam’s brain was in danger of shorting out if they weren’t careful, but something told him that Lawrence didn’t care.

Adam gasped for breath the second they finally broke apart, though his reprieve was short lived. Lawrence moved to kissing his neck, drawing a startled moan from the younger man. He angled his hips away, getting turned on embarrassingly quickly. _God damn Lawrence Gordon. No one should have this kind of power._

“W-wait,” Adam gasped, ducking his head to press their foreheads together. Lawrence pulled back, hands now gentle again and about to retreat, scared he’d gone too fast. Adam shook his head, huffing out a laugh, “No, no, that was good… just…”

“Too fast?” Lawrence filled in, voice rough with arousal. Adam shivered, biting his lip before responding.

“My back is killing me.”

Lawrence sighed, kissing his forehead. It was okay. They’d be okay. They had time. Adam had to remind himself of that.

They’d be okay.

-

Adam spent more nights in Lawrence’s room than his own after that. The two were like newlyweds; always touching, kissing, missing each other, giddy with love. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Love? Lawrence had no reservation in announcing it. As far as he was concerned, their courtship had begun that night in October, or at the very least, when Adam had woken up after. _My hero._

That was it.

He loved Adam. He loved him loudly and with passion. For too long, he’d been too careful with his love. He’d loved modestly, privately, and with restraint. Not this time. Lawrence had to let everyone know how he felt; that he was completely and totally head over heels for the younger man. He’d hold his hand in public, keep an arm around him, slide one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. He’d kiss him and praise him at the drop of a hat, too enamored to do anything but worship him as often as he could. Adam would blush and tell him to shut up, or maybe reply with the same sentiment. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all, just grin and hide his face, either in his hands or against Lawrence. But he was happy.

They were happy.

The second bedroom was deemed excessive after a while. Adam really only used it for storage, and it turned out his entire wardrobe could fit in Lawrence’s closet and half a dresser. Not one to waste a room, Lawrence had it converted to a dark room for Adam. This enabled the young photographer to not only get ahead on work but motivated him to work on his own portfolio. He didn’t kid himself; a photography exhibition was something of a pipe dream. Still, it felt good to build his collection, just in case. (When asked about it, however, Adam stanchly refused to share his work. He didn’t need Lawrence to know the collection was mostly candids of the older man. He’d never survive.)

This was his life. Most days he couldn’t believe it. A year ago, he’d just been dumped by his girlfriend after a fight during what was supposed to be Valentine’s Day dinner. She’d left him standing in the snow, her words still making his skin crawl.

_You’re such a fucking child, Adam! Why do you have to make everything so difficult? You’re going to die alone, I hope you know that._

Now he was living with an older man who loved him, who told him this over and over, and who made him feel worthy of that love. And Adam loved him back, just as much, just as desperately. He craved being as close to him as possible, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed with him, to touch him, kiss him, and listen to him talk. The world was a fairytale with Lawrence Gordon; he felt inconceivably lucky to be a part of it.

_How did this happen?_

After all, they’d met in a fucking bathroom, under the worst circumstances imaginable. They were pitted against each other, one tasked with killing the other, one to merely survive. They shouldn’t be alive. Lawrence wasn’t a killer. Adam wasn’t a fighter. But here they were, in the home they’d made together, watching television and huddled together under Adam’s favorite fleece blanket, with Lawrence’s hand combing through his hair.

Was this fate?

Adam wasn’t convinced. The idea of fate and destiny always rubbed him the wrong way. It made him feel powerless, like he was on a course he couldn’t see and couldn’t escape. Lawrence had once pointed out that if that road had led them to each other, was it really so terrible? Adam reminded him that same road had cost him a foot, if that was the case, and Lawrence rolled his eyes.

Privately, Lawrence continued to believe in this cosmic force that brought them together. Adam said it was too simple and maybe it was, but it helped Lawrence to believe they were meant for each other. He sat there, tracing nonsensical patterns into his scalp, then down to the palms of the younger man’s hands. Adam was nearly asleep now, his body a heavy weight against Lawrence’s side. Lawrence just smiled, gently tracing his index finger over one upturned palm, imagining maybe he could find the unseen red string that tied them together. He’d read that once; of course, it was referring to soul mates. But he could pretend. No one had to know.

Risking waking the younger man up, Lawrence gently brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. As he’d expected, Adam stirred, mumbling something incoherent but obviously annoyed. Lawrence just grinned and continued kissing a path from his hand, up his arm, to as far as he could reach in the awkward position. Adam squirmed, fighting the urge to laugh now. Lawrence could see the blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Stop,” Adam giggled, rolling away from the onslaught of gentle pecks. Lawrence laughed as well, drawing the smaller man up into his lap and beginning the barrage anew, this time on his face and neck. Adam squealed (though he would deny it later) and squirmed and Lawrence fell in love a little more.

“You’re such a freak,” Adam scolded, dipping in for a kiss. Lawrence agreed, but only if Adam admitted he was too.

Fine.

And that was how their life was. What started as an unimaginable horror turned into something beautiful; love and support for two men who needed it most. And fine, maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it wasn’t a red string. Maybe it was just a rusty chain shackled to their ankles. The point was, they’d found each other. More than that, they’d finally found someone who would keep them company through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Remember to send kudos and leave a comment!


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